Inner Wolf
by The Winter Wizard
Summary: While on a misadventure the Spine, nine-year-old Eragon gets bitten by the last, dying Werewolf of Alagaesia. He manages to keep this a secret from everyone at home. But how will this change when Saphira hatches for him and he joins the Varden?
1. Turned

**Disclaimer:** Don't own the owned! Eragon belongs to CP as does everything else, this plot has probably been used before too.

**Author's Note:** Once again, I'm writing another Eragon fanfic only this one is different. In it, *SPOILER ALERT* Eragon becomes a werewolf although in secret and several years before the first book starts. This also begs the question what would happen differently if he was a werewolf, how would the Cycle end? Hopefully, this fanfic attempts to answer those questions.

Also, while this fanfic starts out with Roran's POV it is NOT about him and there will be NO slash whatsoever. If there will be romance, it will be with AxE and traditional pairings that should have been in the books. The chapter just wrote itself. Also, the events in the chapter will be explained in full next time around so do stay tuned for more to come. So now without any further ado, allow me to present you with my latest fanfic attempt!

**CHAPTER 1:** Turned

"Please, brother? I want to join you. We can be a team!" The plaintive cry came from a young boy with tousled brown hair, deep brown eyes that were currently sad and pleading, and a wiry but strong frame.

He wore a thin cotton tunic and was squatting in front of an older boy who was stringing a strong thread, nearly a wire, onto a piece of flexible wood. He sat on a stool in front of a work table that displayed several new arrows.

A small satchel was on the floor next to him packed with some bread, cheese, a hunting knife, and two skin bottles of water. The older boy heaved a sigh, put down the half-made bow, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Eragon," He said gently, looking at the young boy before him. "But I've told you countless times why you can't come along with me. The Spine is _dangerous_."

"But no one got hurt there," The boy called Eragon pointed out cheekily.

"That's because no one but me has been there before," The older boy grumbled, trying to ignore the glint in his brother's eyes.

Truth be told, they weren't brothers but cousins. Even so, they did everything together and were inseparable. They lived with the older boy's father, a farmer named Garrow, on the outskirts of Carvahal Valley. Since it was a short ways away from the main village, it was close to the Spine.

The Spine made good hunting grounds since no one from the village dared to go there and the older boy knew why. Rumour had it there where demons of shadows who lurked in those woods. No one knew what they were exactly but legend, history actually, told of how a whole legion of the notorious Empire was killed in the night by a whole pack of those demons.

And travellers foolish enough to cross through the Spine to make their journey shorter told of tales about glowing golden eyes in the darkness and eerie, mournful howls on a night of fool moon. Gigantic paw prints ten times larger than any normal animal were allegedly found and sometimes people even claimed to see a flash of silver fur.

Naturally, dozens of warriors had gone into the Spine in the hopes of discovering these demons and slaying them, whether to do the right thing or become famous. Other people just went into the treacherous mountains to prove the legend false. But one thing was for certain: Neither of the groups, or anyone else who entered the Spine, ever returned.

No bodies, blood, or bones were found either. After a time, people stopped going into the Spine, even the Empire's men. The tyrannical king of the Empire, Galbatorix by name, stopped sending troops into the mountains and as a result, the Valley of Carvahal was left pretty much alone from the rest of the world.

In a way, it was better and definitely more peaceful. But it also made trade nearly impossible and so the older boy, Roran, would often go hunting on the edge of the Spine to provide meat for his family since most of the vegetables were sold at the nearby village, and other hamlets scattered throughout the Valley.

Of course, Roran dared not to tell Eragon the real reason why he couldn't come, it just wouldn't be right to tell that to an eager, naive nine-year-old who wanted to be like one of those heroes from that story-teller's tales. What was his name again, Brom? That's right, the old man was called Brom and he would come to their house from time to time to watch over Eragon when they were busy.

Roran's father had been suspicious about that at first but then he caved since Eragon had been too young to help out in the farm. Besides, it kept him out of trouble and gave him something to do and, in time, Brom became a good friend to Garrow who enjoyed the company of a fellow adult as opposed to his own children all the time. That wasn't selfish, but human nature and Roran was thankful for the break it gave him from Eragon.

However, the wild tales that Brom engaged Eragon in about crazy things like evil tyrants and Dragon Riders sometimes made the boy unmanageable afterwards since Eragon would rant and rave about how boring things were here and how much more fun they would be if he was a hero. He always wanted to go on an adventure and counted Roran's hunting trips as one such adventure.

Of course it wasn't, but Eragon couldn't understand that. So here they were once again and Roran was getting a bit frustrated. He almost considered letting Eragon tag along to the base of the Spine and then make his way back while Roran continued onto the mountains, so that Eragon wouldn't bother him anymore. Sadly, his father would get very upset if that happened and he wouldn't be able to go to the village and see his friend Katrina.

Heaving another sigh, Roran steeled himself against Eragon's whines that would follow.

"Sorry, cousin," He said curtly, hoping the steel in his voice would cause Eragon to stop pestering him. "But you _can't _come. It's just not safe up there. Besides, what would you do? You can't handle a bow and you definitely can't carry too much. You'd just get in the way and I can't afford to watch you while on the hunt."

Instantly, he hated himself for saying all of that since Eragon's eyes drooped and the boy flinched back at Roran's sharp words. Tears sprung to his eyes and Eragon's face got red from embarrassment and anger.

"Fine!" He snapped, trying to save face. "If you don't want me around, I'll leave!"

Before Roran could react, Eragon scrambled to his feet and ran out the front door to his "hideout" behind the cottage. Roran groaned and closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and slammed his fist onto the table, making the light arrows jump.

Why did things have to be this way? Why did Eragon's mother leave them with him? It's not that Eragon was always a pain and Roran loved him dearly, as a cousin, but sometimes Eragon could get so stuck in his ways and it was hard to make him see sense. They really needed a woman in the family but Roran's father was too old for that and wouldn't even consider it.

No. All they could do was wait for Eragon to calm down as he always did after a fight. Instead of coming to blows when angry, Eragon would run off and hide in a hollowed out tree trunk that was blown over during a storm. It wasn't dangerous and Roran actually cleaned it out one time to make sure Eragon wouldn't get sick. Now it was Eragon's hideout although he, Garrow, and Brom knew about it.

After a period of sulking, Eragon would return shame-faced and apologise, promising to be good. It wasn't the greatest way to raise a boy but Roran was raised without a mother and didn't know much about family either, since his own father was always busy with the farm. Heaving a last sigh, Roran fixed his bow, gathered his arrows, satchel, and stood up.

He decided he would have to leave without saying goodbye since it would get dark soon and he couldn't afford to wait. His father wouldn't mind since this was a regular thing for Roran and he also knew that Eragon would be okay with it eventually. Glancing around the cabin, Roran pulled his cloak on, gathered his things, and left the cottage humming an old tune to get his mind off the argument.

Little did he know, however, that Eragon had followed him after he was a short ways away. Contrary to what Roran thought, the young boy hadn't gone to his hideout. He was still angry and this time, he was fed up with running away to his little hovel all the time. He wanted to be brave and fierce like the Dragon Riders in the old tales that his friend Brom told him about but Roran didn't let him.

Why couldn't he see that Eragon was made of sterner stuff and was ready for an adventure? Why couldn't he just let Eragon go with him? All the other village boys were already doing farm work but Eragon was just sitting around doing nothing all day and he was sick of it. Well, now all of that was about to change, Eragon was certain of it. So it was that he followed his older cousin quietly and determinedly, eager to show him how he wouldn't get in the way on the hunt.

Maybe he could even help out!

Excited as he was, Eragon failed to notice the pair of golden glowing eyes that trailed after him until it was too late.

- PAGE BREAK -

A few hours later, Eragon was panting for breath. He felt hot and sweaty and tired. This was the longest walk he had ever gone on in his short life and on top of it, he was lost. He had started out well and managed to follow Roran easily enough.

But in time, all the twists and turns Roran took confused the boy. Since Eragon wasn't right next to him, he soon got lost and had to backtrack several times. Eventually, Eragon gave up and collapsed, exhausted, in a small clearing he had stumbled across several times.

Breathing deeply and shaking slightly, he sank to his knees and struggled not to cry. But it did little good and soon the tears flow as Eragon wept. Why couldn't he do anything right? He couldn't convince Roran and now he saw why.

Eragon was useless! What's more, he was lost and he would get into big trouble when he got home, _if _he got home. Panic flared within him as he realised he might not make it back alive. He was tired and hungry and didn't have the strength to continue. He needed a nap but Roran had said it wasn't safe in these woods and this mountain.

Even Brom had told him about how an entire Legion of the Empire had mysteriously vanished. Suppose the same thing happened to him? What if he disappeared and nobody found him again? Even worse, what if everyone just forgot about him and he turned into some sort of ghost, able to see everyone but do nothing?

Then Eragon got really scared, especially since it was getting dark and the shadows made odd shapes in the corners. Owls hooted and the crickets sang eerily, making Eragon's heart pound wildly in his chest. Suddenly, a twig snapped nearby causing the already-terrified boy to jump, startled, and spin around, his eyes wide with fear.

"Who's there?" He cried. "Who are you?"

The bushes rustled and a low growl emanated from the shadows.

"Please don't hurt me!" Eragon fretted, wringing his hands nervously as he backed away. "I didn't mean to be bad. I promise I won't run away again!"

But still, the growl continued and Eragon gulped as the sunset illuminated the silhouette of a large shape of some animal on all fours. The strange beast looked invisible but real at the same time making Eragon scared and confused. Upon a closer look, he realised it looked like...a wolf?

But that was strange. He clearly remembered Roran telling him there were no wolves or bears in this part of the Spine. What was a beast as big as that thing doing so close? But soon, all curiosity turned to terror as the wolf stepped through the undergrowth.

It was gigantic, the size of a small pony. It's eyes were blood red and had no pupils. The beast was growling softly but not in an angry way. Eragon was too scared to notice though and was stumbling in his haste to escape the beast. But it was too late and the wolf was too fast.

In one split second, the wolf leapt into the air. Eragon shrieked in fear, thinking he was going to die. But instead, the giant wolf bit in the wrist. If the boy had been less afraid, he might have noticed how the wolf was panting heavily and was actually wounded under his belly.

He would have also noticed how a strange, silver liquid flowed into his veins as the wolf's silver fangs pierced his wrist. But Eragon was unable to comprehend that for he was too far gone from simple terror to pain as excruciating agony shot up his body from his right wrist.

His job accomplished, the wolf's entire form relaxed as he drew his final breaths and withdrew his fangs almost tenderly from his chosen heir's wrist. It was a shame that he didn't Turn him under better circumstances but the Prophecy demanded it. If the Evil One were to be defeated and the wolf redeemed, then the boy must be Turned.

He could only hope his dense cousin found him soon and the boy survived the Turning. With one last look, the wolf slunk off into the bushes waiting for death. But this time around, he would embrace it, his task almost complete.

- PAGE BREAK -

Roran grinned tiredly as he slumped into his usual chair by the window, gulping down water from his skin bottle. The hunt had gone well and he had even bagged a doe as well as a few rabbits and a couple of quails. He had not seen any sign of the legendary demon and had come back alive once again.

His family would eat meat this winter and so far, life was good...

...until a shadow stepped in front of him making him confused and worried as he glance d up only to see none other than a furious Brom who looked about ready to strangle him.

"Where is he?" Brom practically growled, causing Roran to flinch.

"Where is who?" Roran asked in confusion, shoving aside a sinking feeling of dread.

"Eragon, you dimwit!" Brom snapped, his eyes flashing.

Roran stood up, his body tense and his mind reeling. His mind flashed back to the time when he last saw Eragon. He had an argument with his cousin about the hunting trip.

"_**Fine! If you don't want me, I'll leave."**_ Eragon had said.

Roran had thought he meant he would go to his hideout but would he...

His heart sank.

"I thought he meant that tree..." He said weakly, his victory of the hunt instantly forgotten.

"Well he's not there," Brom growled.

"How do you know?" Roran retorted.

"Simple," Brom shot back. "I was coming over here as usual to watch over Eragon while you went on the hunt. But when I came, you two weren't exactly bidding each other a fond farewell so I waited, thinking it prudent. I came back in a couple hours and checked out back but Eragon wasn't there. I searched all over the place and even asked Garrow but he didn't have a clue. He's out in the Spine now with a search party from the village. So I ask you again, _WHERE IS YOUR COUSIN?"_

This time, Roran was in panic mode and regretted every damnable word he said to the poor boy. This was all his fault. Eragon probably followed him in secret and was probably dead somewhere in the Spine, whether due to falling off a precarious cliff or being torn to pieces by the legendary demon.

"Well? Answer me, boy!" Brom demanded.

"I don't know!" Roran stammered.

Brom looked like he wanted to punch him until a noise from nearby caused him to turn his head around. Roran looked on in confusion as Brom turned white as a sheet and seemed frozen with shock, dread, and remorse. Then Brom snapped and ran over to...

..._Eragon!_

Roran watched, frozen in horror, as he saw a tear-stained Garrow carry the prone form of a lifeless Eragon in his arms. He was surrounded by some of the men from the village and Katrina was also there. They all looked sad and angry, shooting dark looks at Roran. Only Katrina didn't seem to hate him and for that Roran loved her.

Wait, what did he say? Now was not the time! Giving himself a mental shake, he raced off after Brom who was actually showed some emotion for a change and looked like he might be about to cry. Roran didn't care though since he had tears trickling down his own cheeks.

Clearly exhausted, Garrow collapsed and Brom grasped Eragon's hands, sobbing freely now. The old man shook as he chanted some strange words in a foreign language that no one comprehended. There was a flash of golden light from the old man's hand and suddenly, miraculously, Eragon gasped.

His body convulsed and he began to shake as he gasped frantically for air. Instantly, the mood changed as life flowed back to Eragon's body and Brom began barking orders to get Eragon inside and healed. Katrina was a big help as she began nursing Eragon back to health.

Roran could only stand there in a daze as everything moved about him in slow motion. He didn't know what just happened with that light, those words, and Eragon's sudden change from seeming death to life again. No one else cared and Brom was a hero. Personally, Roran didn't care but he knew now that one thing was certain.

Things would be very, _very_ different around here.

Little did he know just how true that thought would be!

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	2. Shifter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the owned! All rights belong to CP and this plot has probably been used before too.

**Author's Note:** First of all, thanks a million for all the reviews guys! You rock and really keep this story going. To be honest, I didn't think you all would like it since most people who read Eragon fanfiction like elves and dragons. Personally, I prefer elves and dragons too and I am actually not into werewolves or vampires. I even hate Twilight and I know I'll get lots of flames for saying that, but I just don't like vamps at all. I prefer traditional fantasy which is why I have been playing Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim lately.

However, there are also werewolves in the game as well as elves and dragons and that inspired this fanfiction. So if you've played Skyrim or seen the werewolves in that game whether via pictures or multimedia, the werewolves in this story look and act like that although they can talk even in their beast-form and can use their powers more often. It's tough to transform though.

Also, I have to say that I have never written a werewolf story before or read a werewolf book or watched a werewolf movie. Thus, I am writing all of this from scratch so I apologise if this kind of werewolf doesn't meet your approval. Moving on, I really appreciate your comments so please keep them coming! Well, that about wraps things up. That's all I have to say for this crazily long A/N so let the chapter begin!

**CHAPTER 2:** Shifter

When Eragon awoke he was not lying in his bed as usual. Instead, he lay in a snowy forest. Tall stately pine trees towered above him, standing silent and serene like ancient guardians of some long-lost, precious secret.

The forest floor was covered in an ivory white carpet of snow that was smooth to the touch and cold. Pinecones and fur from pine trees dotted the snowy blanket and a soft mist shrouded the trees, floating aimlessly and almost lazily here and there.

The whole forest smelt of freshly-crushed pinecones and a chill breeze hung in the air. For some reason, Eragon knew he should feel afraid of this place, of the otherworldly, supernatural feel it seemed to possess. However, he did not feel scared like the night before.

If anything, he felt more alive and invigorated than he ever felt in his entire life. His whole body felt alive and bursting with energy, all the anxiety and stress of the previous misadventure completely and utterly forgotten. All the pain he felt was washed away; Eragon felt like he could do anything, literally.

Suddenly, a twig snapped and his ears perked up at the sound. Unlike the previous night, he was not scared out of his mind by the sound. Instead, he was intrigued and curious by it. His nose twitched as he sniffed out the scent that would surely accompany the presence of an intruder. Perhaps it was dinner?

Eragon frowned in confusion at such thoughts but all doubts were quickly forgotten as his nostrils were suddenly assaulted by the smell of fresh blood. The sound of a methodical heart-beat reached his ears and Eragon's breath caught in his throat and his primal instincts kicked in.

Driven by an alien desire never experienced before, he leapt to his feet. Before he could react, he felt a strange tug in his gut. A peculiar sensation accompanied it which made his body feel like it was being twisted inside out and stretched thin. He nearly shrieked only to reel in shock as a howl emanated from his mouth, no muzzle.

_Wait, what?_ Eragon thought.

But he did not have time to speculate for his mind snapped as his primal instincts took over and his new self took form.

Instantly, pure white fur sprouted on his arms, legs and back. His arms and legs stretched and became stronger, more muscular. His body twisted into an animalistic but humanoid form. His ears stretched until they became strangely pointed like a beast's.

His nails stretched long too and became extremely sharp. They glinted in the afternoon sun like claws. Eragon felt immense pain as his teeth transformed into fangs and his body..._turned._

But once again he had no time to bemoan or even ponder his fate for the drive that propelled him into action had taken him over and he was now beyond stopping. Throwing all caution to the wind, he raced through the trees turning this way and that expertly as if he had done so his entire life.

His mind was only focussed on one thing and one thing only: To feed. His senses were preoccupied with capturing the succulent stag that was some paces ahead of him, blissfully unaware of the fierce predator that was about to end his life.

It was survival for the fittest.

Eragon, the boy, was forgotten and lost, tossed casually to the side as opposed to a more powerful persona.

Now, Eragon, the beast, had taken control and he was in charge. That's all that mattered.

In no time at all, Eragon used the advantage of surprise and surged through the forest. Catching sight of his prey, he soared through the air expertly and sank his fangs into the deer's neck. The ancient stag did not even have time to scream as it died.

Eragon, the beast, howled in triumph after withdrawing his fangs from his victim's neck. He then succumbed to his hunger and tore into the deer devouring the fresh meat hungrily.

When he was finished, the beast pulled himself up and stood on his haunches. Instead of running on all fours like he did during the hunt, he walked like a man, albeit a tad bit slouched. He panted for breath slightly as the adrenalin rush faded from him after his first kill.

He wandered thereafter until he found a gurgling stream which meandered throughout the forest. Kneeling down, Eragon bowed his head to drink.

However, when he gazed into the water his entire body froze in shock to see not the face of a boy but the face of a wolf-like creature, of a beast. In that split second of utter disbelief, Eragon realized what he had done: He had killed an innocent animal in cold blood, just because he could and because he wanted to.

True he did need to eat meat but surely there were better ways than taking it so swiftly and without warning like that? Being a young boy, he felt so horrified and disgusted with himself at what he did that his form slipped.

He lost focus on controlling his form and shifted back into his human self. His fur twisted back eerily into skin and his body shrunk back into his nine-year-old self. Eragon, the boy, gazed at his reflection in the stream in complete and utter shock.

He was even more disturbed to see his face sullied with blood from his kill, some of the crimson drops spilling down his neck and chest. He blushed profusely, for what reason he knew not, when he realised that he was unclothed as well after _Turning._

Wanting to get rid of the blood and clean himself up, he hastily splashed water on his face and neck. He even cleaned his nails which were dirty and grimy, some blood and deer fur stuck in between them. He also noticed how they were slightly longer and pointed.

Once he was done, Eragon groaned in dismay and sank to his knees. A red, blood-stained vision of himself slaying the deer flashed constantly in his mind's eyes, making him burry his face in his hand and sob bitterly. What had happened to him in the Spine?

What had become of him now? Was this all bad dream, a nightmare? Or was this a curse? Was he being punished for running away? What was happening to him?

As if on cue, Eragon sensed a presence approach him. It felt ancient and strong, filled with power and dignity, almost like a god. But now he was too weak and tired and overcome with grief at his seemingly evil deed to care anymore.

"Why are you crying, cub?" A deep voice growled softly.

"Because I did an awful thing," Eragon sniffled, peeking between the cracks of his fingers at the newcomer.

"And what might that awful thing be?" The voice asked gently.

When Eragon was certain he heard no scorn or disgust in the voice, he heaved a sigh and dried his eyes on his arm. Sniffling slightly, he hugged his legs to his chest and glanced at the newcomer.

For some odd reason, he was not surprised in the slightest to see that it was none other than the wolf who bit him the night before. Only now he looked much larger than before and more powerful. He looked quite glorious actually, a fiery sunset behind him shrouding him in an orange glow.

This time, there was no fear in Eragon. Instead, he was only mildly surprised to feel no emotion whatsoever directed to the wolf. He was not even shocked to see the creature sit on his haunches and support his chin on his fist like a human, or as human as possible for a werewolf.

"I killed someone," The boy said at last in a small voice.

"Oh really?" The wolf enquired. "And why is that?"

"Because..." Eragon stammered. "Because I felt like I was in control of the whole world, and I was hungry."

"That's not so bad," The wolf chuckled.

Eragon frowned in confusion.

"What? I thought it was terrible? Aren't I a murderer?" The boy asked, now thoroughly confused.

The wolf opposite him sighed and shook his head.

"Eragon," The wolf said gently. "What does your cousin, Roran, do in the Spine?"

"How do you know my name?" Eragon gasped.

"Let's just say I have my sources," The wolf grinned mischievously. "Now answer my question, please. Tell me, what does the cub do?"

Eragon mulled the question over until the realization dawned on him.

"He hunts," The boy replied simply.

The shape-shifter opposite him grinned proudly.

"That's right, young cub," He said. "He hunts. Now, am I correct in recalling that you, yourself, desired to join him on the hunt just yesterday?"

Eragon nodded, his face red with embarrassment as he remembered his rather childish argument with his cousin.

"Yes," He whispered.

"Then what is wrong about hunting like this?" The wolf questioned.

"I don't know," Eragon mumbled. "It just feels wrong."

"It was your first hunt," The wolf replied kindly. "You will get used to it in time."

"My _first_ hunt?" Eragon asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Aye," The wolf said. "You are a werewolf, Eragon, a shape-shifter. You are the last of your kind. You must keep up your strength until you can find your true Soul Mate so that you can continue our race."

"Wait, what?" Eragon stammered. "I'm a werewolf? I thought that was just a myth!"

The wolf growled fierce causing Eragon to flinch.

"We are _not_ a myth," The wolf spat. "We are real or were real. Who do you think destroyed an entire Empiric Legion and kept your valley safe from their schemes and manipulations and destruction? Who?"

"I don't know," Eragon muttered. "Brom never said."

"That's because it was us, the werewolves," The wolf answered. "Only, he was too afraid to tell you of them lest your child-hood curiosity drive you to meet us."

"Oh," Eragon squeaked. "So what does that mean now, for me I mean?"

"For centuries," The wolf sighed, relaxing slightly. "For centuries, we kept your valley safe from invaders and we even kept the Empire herself at bay. You lived in peace and innocence because of us. But sadly, that all changed."

"How?" Eragon asked eagerly.

He always loved stories and this one was real.

"I cannot say for now is not the right time," The wolf said sadly. "But you should know that we were betrayed by one we thought a friend which led the Empire to slaughter us. It was after we destroyed an entire legion. Needless to say, the Empire was furious and used every trick at their disposal to destroy us and our reputation even if it meant making people believe we were legends and myths."

"What happened then?" Eragon asked, almost dreading the answer.

"We were betrayed," The wolf growled. "In the dead of night a month after our glorious victory in the Spine, a small troop of elite Empire forces snuck into our camp. They discovered our home from one we thought a friend. They destroyed us. Only I and I alone escaped. I have been on the run ever since."

"I'm sorry," Eragon said sadly, now hating the Empire more than ever.

"Don't be," The wolf replied. "It's not your fault."

"But I hate them, I hate the Empire," Eragon growled. "Brom told me how their king destroyed all the dragons and their Riders and forced the Varden, elves, and dwarves into hiding. He's a tyrant and I want to kill him."

"Well perhaps there is a way for both of us to get revenge," The wolf allowed.

"How?" Eragon said eagerly, his eyes on fire with passion.

"Train," The wolf answered. "Train to transform into your true self, your wolf-form, your second skin."

"But I already have and it was easy!" Eragon protested in confusion.

"Yes, here," The wolf agreed. "But this is not reality."

"What do you mean?" Eragon asked uncertainly.

"This is another plain of existence, a Void if you will," The wolf replied. "Not the afterlife as some think the Void to be but another universe that overlaps with your own. Only those linked to the supernatural can access it but even then it is extremely rare. Since werewolves live two lives between animal and non-animal, they are linked together by the Void. It is a type of dream-land that we can escape to, it rejuvenates us. Here we can transform easily. This is a massive wild hunting ground that is not contaminated by the Empire or anyone for that matter. Only werewolves can come here, when they sleep or are unconscious. Our minds walk the spirit path that lead us to this place, to this other realm. But back in Alagaësia, transforming will not be so easy."

"If you say so," Eragon said, his mind lost in awe and wonder at the wolf's words. "So are there other werewolves here?"

"Yes," The wolf said happily, a distant look in his eyes. "But sadly, they are all lifeless, passed on. They do not exist in your plain but only in this one, in the Void. You might encounter them during your time here and they might be friendly, but be cautious. For to werewolves, this realm is just as real as your mortal one if not more so."

"Like when I was on my first hunt," Eragon exclaimed in understanding.

"Yes," The werewolf said proudly. "Congratulations by the way. Not all werewolves were as lucky as you."

"Thanks," Eragon grinned, basking in the attention he received.

No one really complimented him like that at home.

As if on cue, Eragon's vision blurred and he suddenly heard the voices of Uncle Garrow and some of the men from the village. They were calling his name and sounded distress. Eragon glanced over at the ancient werewolf who looked sad and reluctant.

"Your mortal pack is calling you," The shape-shifter sighed. "The time has come for us to part ways for a while."

"But I don't want to leave you!" Eragon protested. "I want to stay here, to hunt."

The werewolf chuckled.

"You will in time, pup," The shape-shifter reassured. "But go now, be gone. Train in your powers and harness your strength. Do not push your limits and stay cautious in all things. Trust no one but yourself. Relish the hunt. Learn the ways of the shadow paths and awaken your inner self. Visit the void often, I might not be here all the time but I shall come when I can. Make friends and avoid making enemies, the Void can still be a dangerous place. Now go, may the Moon be with you. Hunt well, pup!"

"_Eragon!"_ A voice wailed. _"Eragon!"_

The boy in question felt a tug in his gut and his mind reeled as he felt his body be sucked through an invisible vortex back to earth. But not before he vowed to obey the old werewolf and get revenge on the Empire.

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**A/N:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know what you think so that I can make this even better yet!


	3. Change

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the owned! All rights belong to CP and even this plot has most likely been used before already.

**Author's Note:** Whoa! You guys are freaking awesome! Your reviews really inspire me and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectation. Many thanks to each and everyone who reviewed and added this story to your favourites. It means a lot to me and I'll try to check out your own works whenever I get the chance.

The only problem is that I have a big change coming up in a couple months and things are getting slightly stressful on my side of the island. It's finally the holidays though so expect faster updates as I got quite a few good ideas for this story. No promises though since I don't know what the future holds and run into Writer's Block often enough. Well, enough said and I hope you like this chapter. Feel free to critique/review it as I really appreciate them.

Let the tale begin!

**CHAPTER 3:** Change

The old wolf was right about one thing: Transforming into his werewolf form was tough. Hells, it was downright torture! And if Eragon hadn't transformed in the Void, he would have believed it to be nigh impossible.

Nonetheless, he took the aged werewolf's words to heart and persisted in his training. It was extremely difficult and taxing since the mortal plain of existence just didn't have enough magic to propel the transformation forward, and it was frustrating.

As time wore on, Eragon struggled to keep his anger under control; anger at his lack of success, anger at being weak and disappointing his Void-dwelling mentor, and anger at the Empire.

The reason for the latter one was plain and simple. Eragon didn't know when it happened but a group of Empiric soldiers had tromped into the village one day led by a fat and sneering nobleman. The man had greasy blond hair, sickly-looking eyes, a hooked nose and a fat double chin. He was decked out in expensive clothing, clearly to boast his wealth, and a gaudy ceremonial dagger was attached to his hip.

But as a weapon it was useless. In addition, the man was so fat and feeble that Eragon doubted he could even unsheathe the dagger let alone use it so he was no threat there. But he was a threat due to the power and authority he wielded on behalf of the Empire.

He had marched into the village square one day and proclaimed with a loud voice that the Empire had grown tired of letting the mountain villages of Carvahal grow "lax and complacent." He droned on and on about how the Empire had sat idly by and let them live out their lowly lives out of the kindness and goodness of King Galbatorix's heart.

Sadly, the man said, although his voice was dripping with sarcasm, the time had come for change. The Empire simply couldn't afford to be as complacent as it had been and people had to show they were loyal to their king. And that meant tax. Overnight, the world changed. Soldiers flying the crest of the Empire was common place now although it had been a foreign, almost alien, sight in times past.

Eragon realised now that what the old wolf said was true, now more than ever. The werewolves _had_ kept the Empire at bay and now that the last one was dead and the heir un-awakened as of yet, the Empire was seizing control of the golden opportunity. They wanted to take root in Carvahal and the lands beyond in case the werewolves returned.

But Eragon knew there was no _"in case._" There was no "if" to the return of the shadow-walkers, the skin-changers, the shape-shifters. He might be the last one but he was determined to change things. At first, it was difficult and extremely hard. Eragon passed half the time after training causing much worry and concern among Roran, Uncle Garrow, and Brom.

Speaking of which, the old story-teller had been coming to the farm more and more often after he was found unconscious in the Spine. It was after Eragon's first trip to the Void. While the young shape-shifter didn't know why, Brom had increased his trips to the farm so much so that now he was almost a common member of the household.

Uncle Garrow certainly didn't mind since Brom would sometimes help him with the farm-work and it allowed for someone to keep an eye on Eragon. Uncle Garrow couldn't afford to watch him nor could Roran since now the new tax that was being shipped back to the capitol via the soldiers forced Eragon's cousin and uncle to work double time at the farm.

They even had to hire hands from the village and Roran was forced to buy meat from that nasty shop-keeper Sloan. Things got even more complex since it turned out that Katrina's father was Sloan and the meat-seller had taken an instant dislike to Roran especially when he found out he was hunting in the Spine.

Sloan even went as far as to forbid Roran from being around his daughter if he went anywhere near five leagues of the Spine. Roran was outraged at first for how else was he to feed his family? But Brom talked some reason into Roran who finally gave in. Since now that they were working twice as much and producing more food, their income also doubled allowing them to buy more supplies and, thus, meat from the village.

This also meant Katrina was seen around their home-stead more since Roran was at home more often. Eragon didn't mind at all since Katrina started acting like an older sister/motherly figure towards him and the female attention was nice for a change. It wasn't in a romantic way so things weren't at all awkward especially since Eragon hadn't hit puberty yet but the woman's touch was a welcome change to the farm.

It even softened old Uncle Garrow who treated Katrina like a daughter, or more, rather, like a daughter-in-law since he half-expected Katrina and Roran to get married soon.

Eragon was having some pretty big changes himself though, most of which were due to his transformation. He quickly discovered that his senses and abilities were greatly enhanced due to being a werewolf. Despite being rather scrawny due to the previously strict food regime on the farm, Eragon was incredibly strong now that he was a werewolf.

He could lift virtually everything and his strength was growing larger day by day. His speed was enhanced as well so much so that he could cover great distances previously impossible in a mere few hours. Trips to the Spine and back, even before dinner, were the usual affair now and this gave Eragon some time to practice _Turning_, as he had come to call it.

Also because of the new tax and Roran's increased work effort, the Spine was virtually empty aside from his older cousin's rare trip or two to hunt some extra meat. Eragon also found that his hearing, sight, and sense of smell were also enhanced as well as his taste which was one of the most powerful changes.

He could smell things, fresh blood in particular, from miles away and could usually determine who it was if he had seen the person before. With his enhanced hearing, he could hear conversations in the next room as clear as a bell even though the doors were locked and the windows shuttered.

He could even hear things if people were whispering which was very annoying after a while although it proved useful when gossip was to be had, especially about his cousin's romantic affair with Eraogn's "new sister" and the boy loved to tease his older 'brother' about that.

This also proved useful since Eragon could hear heart-beats much louder as clear as speech if not more so. He could also determine whether the hear-beat belonged to a human or animal which proved useful when the smell was unfamiliar. Of course, all of these changes weren't as easy as they sounded and it was incredibly difficult to adjust.

Some of the nastier side-effects were due to his enhanced hearing, for with it he was able to hear what the soldiers were talking about even if he was pretty far away, but not as far as the farm. Some of the things they laughed and jeered about made his blood boil. This only enhanced his rage at the Empire and propelled him into more and more training.

This made Eragon seek out the Void more and more often. He needed a place where he could get away from it all: Away from all the noise and ruckus, away from the awful smells that hurt his now-fragile nose, and away from the anger and rage at the new tax and Galbatorix's cruelty. He would visit the Void almost every night journeying far and wide.

He discovered many new Spirit-Paths as the old wolf called them and discovered that some of them were types of shadows, shadows linked to the Void enabling Eragon to hop through certain Shadows on his mortal plain via the Void even though he was awake. These shadows he named Spirit Shadows due to their connection to the Void.

During his trips, he encountered the old wolf who gave him much council and many words of wisdom. He helped him temper his anger and rage and hone his skills. He would hunt with him and introduced him to several new wolves. There were males and females and cubs.

Eragon made many friends and impressed the other wolves with his skills. Of course, they all wanted to hear how his first hunt went and he received many howls of pride as the Void-wolves congratulated him on his victory. Eragon also received many wolf-chuckles when they learned of his initial remorse at his deed.

He blushed many times over especially when the story earned him the title of Stag Slayer, although it was actually meant to be a compliment and not a taunt since cubs usually didn't fell a fully-fledged stag on their first hunt ever. They would also be accompanied by an adult, usually a parent or relative and Eragon had neither.

This made him something of a celebrity. But back on Alagaësia he was a nobody, a weakling. He kept fainting because of his training and had a hard time containing his growing hatred for the Empire due to all the werewolves they slaughtered mercilessly, even young ones. To counter the anger, the old wolf (Eragon learned his name was Shadow-Mane) suggested Eragon learn several new skills.

Eragon obeyed his mentor's advice and listened carefully whenever Roran talked nostalgically about his previous hunts, even asking tips and pointers about how to be a better hunter. Roran was surprised at first but pleased that Eragon listened to him and began to tutor him in hunting and stalking prey. After a rather loud argument with Uncle Garrow, Roran finally got permission to teach Eragon how to use a bow and arrow.

Eragon also requested Brom to teach him how to wield a sword, spear, and axe. The old story-teller was equally shocked as Roran, if not more so, and took a little more convincing. But Eragon simply used his now-trademark crooked smile and begged the old-timer saying that he wanted to become a hero like in the old stories. He confided in Brom that he dreamed of becoming a Dragon Rider and wanted to be ready in case those times returned.

Brom caved and soon Eragon was forced into a strict regime of training and exercise as he had to build up his body and his strength in order to be fit enough to be a warrior. Actually, Eragon didn't really want to be a warrior but Shadow-Mane had insisted, stating that it might help build his body and with the added strengths it would counter his werewolf abilities. The constant training would also help him contain his rage and make him into a finer warrior since there might come a time when Eragon's lycanthropy would not save him.

Eragon refused to believe that because he felt there was no stronger power than being a werewolf but Shadow-Mane's advice helped and he soon found it easier to _Turn._ As his body grew stronger and his mind sharper, his second-skin was easier to change into. It still took a while but Eragon was now able to sprout fur on small parts of his body and his nails would transform into claws.

Time passed swiftly for the young shape-shifter and things were looking up for him. Life was good and he had family and friends, now that some boys were being hired from the village for farm-work. But even as the years sped by, a shadow grew in the horizon as dark storm-clouds gathered. This storm could not be seen by any eyes, whether mortal or immortal.

Not yet.

For the time had not come for the storm to break, but when it would the storm will utterly shatter the peace that Carvahal Valley had thrived on and the entire world would be turned upside-down.

Shadow-Mane knew this and could only hope that his young apprentice could grow strong enough in his skills, powers, and abilities and hone them expertly for when the dam broke. For when it did, there would be no turning back, and Eragon would be needed.

When it did, Shadow-Mane prayed desperately that his charge would be ready for if not, the dark clouds would cover the entire world and they would never see the Light of day again, and the Darkness that would follow would be worse than death and no one would know a greater terror than in that prophesied era.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**A/N:**Like it? Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know so that I can make it even better yet!

**A/N 2:** By the way, I am stuck. I am torn whether to do a time skip to when Eragon's fifteen and finds the egg or whether to write a couple chapters prior about his training and maybe something with the guards and the fat nobleman. Also, I didn't mean him to look like Snape from Harry Potter what with the greasy hair and hooked nose, but that's just how I picture your typical cliché nobleman.

Basically, I just want to know what you guys think. Should I write a couple more chapters about the time in between his training and when the book starts? I don't really want to but I don't mind. Also, I know it's slightly unrealistic for a nine-year-old to learn all that stuff but Eragon's different since he's a werewolf. He's also a lot smarter since he has a werewolf mentor and talks with people, ahem, werewolf who are older than him in the Void.

He also lives with people who are basically adults and hasn't had too many friends his age until now. So what should I do? Should I write one or two more chapters about the limbo time? Or should I skip ahead to when the book starts? Any thoughts, people?

Many thanks in advance!


	4. Magic and Malice

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the owned! All rights belong to CP and this plot has probably been used before.

**Author's Note:** Wow! You guys continue to amaze me with your response and I really appreciate the fantastic reviews, advice and feedback. After some deliberation, I decided to write the chapter and see where it went and this is what I wound up with. Basically, it's not really just a chapter devoted to his training but a flashback as some suggested. Also, this chapter starts when he's fifteen but you learn that at the end. Just thought to clarify that to avoid confusion. Also, there's some wolfish hunting violence in this chapter so let me know if you guys think I should up the rating.

Speaking of which, the next chapter will most likely contain an "M" rating due to real violence so I'm not sure if I should change it since Eragon's werewolf-form propels him into actions he would not have taken in his naive farm-boy self in the books. Well, that's about it. Don't want to bore you to tears since you guys are awesome readers but I want to warn you that this chapter is pretty long. The other chapters probably won't be as long though. I just couldn't end the chapter until how it ended now so this is what I wound up with.

I hope you like it!

**P.S.** A character of the _Inheritance Cycle_ is revealed here in this chapter although he is slightly different than in the books, I think. Also, sorry about the chapter number confusion with the previous episode. My mistake and I'll try not to let it happen again, but that was supposed to be Chapter 3 and this Chapter 4. Hope that clears things up a bit.

**CHAPTER 4: **Magic and Malice

The mountainous forest was quiet and largely empty save for a few brave chirping birds and a lone doe nibbling meekly on dry crusty grass that sprouted between the rocks and pebbles of the Spine. It was late in the afternoon and the Spine was drenched in a golden glow, looking almost supernatural.

But not everything was so peaceful and tranquil. No indeed! Unlike the blissfully ignorant deer alone in the clearing, a large snowy-white wolf crouched low on all fours. The beast of prey was giant, the size of a small horse, and its massive jaw was hanging open slightly, a low growl escaping from it.

The growl was low enough so that it did not startle the animal several paces from it but loud enough for the predator to hear it, the growl gave the creature a sense of power and dominance as it always did when on the hunt. But such thoughts vanished from his mind which were focussed solely on stalking its prey.

Hunting was not always so easy as the wolf had discovered while growing up, and it had to feed on small animals such as rabbits and quail most of the time. The wolf hadn't eaten deer in many months and so it was feeling more excited then ever.

The animal wasn't as proud and noble as the first stag that it slew but it would suffice and the wolf could even save some for later in one of its many food holes buried throughout the rocky crags of the Spine.

Suddenly, a twig snapped as the wolf, distracted slightly with thoughts of victory and triumph, stepped on a fallen branch. The deer's ears perked up and her head shot up in sync as its fine hearing caught wind of the approaching presence of a threat.

Instantly, the doe bounded off, its pointed tail up revealing the soft white underside. The doe bleated in fear and warning any other animals unlucky enough to be around while on a Hunt. The doe darted swiftly through the woods, dodging this way and that, kicking its back legs sometimes to ward off an attack.

But the wolf was fast, faster than most of its kin and caught up with the flighty animal in no time at all. The methodical thumping of the doe's heart-beat pounded in the wolf's sensitive ears and his nose was assaulted by the smell of freshly-crushed pinecones...and the smell of fresh meat.

In no time at all, the wolf's baser instincts kicked in and it launched into an attack. The wolf used a different tactic than his first hunt this time, one he learned was more useful and a lot easier too. Unlocking years of honed experience, the wolf soared into the air aiming for the doe's rump. Its aim was true and its paws gripped fast.

In seconds, the doe went down with a strangled cry cut short as its body froze in shock. The wolf had clawed at the doe's rump and hastily reached over, snapping its neck. The former act was done so that the doe's nervous system would cease disabling any form of resistance and escape.

The wolf had found this to be the easiest form of attack since most of the time, deer would run around in circles or zig-zag. If the wolf was in a pack, he or the Alpha wolf would have chased the deer in a circle while the pack stood around it. The deer would have fallen into their trap, its primal instincts betraying it to death.

Such was the way of the wolves, survival of the fittest. Sadly, the lone wolf was not in a pack for no other beasts of prey lived in the forested mountains of the Spine. In addition, the wolf was not even a normal predator: It was a werewolf. But all thoughts of angst vanished as the wolf sank its jaws into the juicy meat, gorging himself on his fresh kill.

Once he was satisfied, he picked the carcass clean and carried the meat he couldn't eat to one of his food holes. He dug it open slightly and tossed the meat inside. Job done, he used his muzzle to burry the meat again with the loose dirt and, so that he could recall where it was and warn off any potential scavengers, sprayed his scent on the small pantry.

When he was finished, he licked himself clean and trotted briskly through the woods until he reached a crystal clear pool. Due to him being in a mountain range, there were many fresh streams and ponds and fountains from melting glaciers at the summit. This allowed him easy access to water holes which he drank from greedily.

His wolf-form finally content, Eragon transformed back into human. Being a shape-shifter, he was fully naked when he transformed but had gotten used to it after six years of gruelling training in the art of changing into his second skin. It was embarrassing at first but now it was perfectly normal and natural to him.

In fact, he found this form more normal than when he was clothed since wolves wore no clothes and he preferred to spend time in his wolf-form as much as possible. He did so whenever he could but had to be careful so as to not arouse suspicion concerning his frequent trips to the forest.

So far, his excuse was to either take a break from his training in warfare with Brom or to practice the archery that Roran taught him where it would actually be useful. So far, it worked but now that he was older he also had to do his fair share of farm-work since he couldn't just get free room and board.

He did practice archery and his battle training but Eragon used whatever spare time he had to transform, although he found the best times where when everyone was asleep. Being a werewolf, he found that he was often restless and only needed a few hours of sleep to regain his strength. This was done in the Void which proved useful as well.

During the evening hours when the farm was silent, Eragon would use this time to escape the rigors of day-to-day living on the farm and escape to the freedom of the woods in the Spine. He would stalk prey for hours on end or simply run aimlessly wherever his feet would take him.

Being the only werewolf in all of Alagaësia, he could easily sniff out his own scent for a few miles which enabled him to backtrack quickly and not get lost. He could do this in his human form as well which earned him a slight reputation as a mountain guide. His services would be hired sometimes, when he was free, to track down lost sheep or missing cattle.

It was fun most times and earned Eragon some pretty coin but after a while it got repetitive and boring. He still did it though since he felt obligated to help his human pack who had watched over him while he was still a cub and raised him despite his oddities and weakness.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon relished the cool breeze that whipped through his hair and danced through the grass and across the water. Enjoying the peace and quiet, he cleaned himself of the blood from his hunt at the bank before plunging into the calm pool, disturbing the surface and causing ripples to spread out in all directions.

He splashed around a bit before reclining lazily with his back against the bank and arms across the surface of the bank. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of fresh air, revelling in the stillness and serenity. As he lay there, his mind wandered, drifting here and there. A sense of nostalgia overtook him and his mind flashed back to an important event that had changed his life and made him even stronger than he was already.

_- FLASHBACK BEGINS -_

Eragon was twelve-years old when it happened, when he first discovered magic. He had been on a long trip in the Spine. It was in the evening while everyone was asleep and late in the year. He had wandered far and wide when he decided to stop under a rocky precipice for shelter. Dark storm clouds had been brewing for it was late in the year and the world was frozen over with snow and ice.

As his luck would have it, it started to snow. Eragon was lucky he took shelter when he did for not even a werewolf could survive an all-out blizzard. Despite his super-human strength and resistance, the boy still felt cold as nature unleashed her frosty fury all around him. He didn't recall when he dropped off to sleep but it was cold and he was tired.

When he awoke, the snow had stopped but the damage had already been done: His tracks were gone and, thus, so was his scent. Having a vague idea where he should go due to his constant journeys in the Spine, Eragon struck out against his better judgement transforming into his wolf-form for warmth and speed.

He raced across the snow in his wolf-form but try as he might he could not pick up his scent and soon, horribly, embarrassingly soon, Eragon was lost. But being a proud and mighty werewolf, he refused to give up and limp away with his tail tucked beneath his legs. So instead of calling it quits, he continued wandering through the woods trying to find his scent and/or determine where he had come from.

Along the way, however, he eventually picked up another scent, a foreign one. It was tainted by human smells but mingled with a wolf scent in a way that was extremely similar to a werewolf but utterly distant and alien. Intrigued and hopeful, Eragon howled in triumph and surged through the Spine with a new target.

In no time at all, he found what he was looking for and skidded to a halt on the border of a large clearing. It was surrounded by a natural, but obviously human-built, wall of hedges that made for a hidden fence of sorts. This odd wall went surrounded a small wooden hut with a thatched roof, heavily laden with fresh snow. It was a wonder the straw hadn't caved in and buried the hut's owner alive but it still held fast and sparked Eragon's curiosity.

The sturdy little hut also suggested warmth and shelter against the cruel frigid winds of winter and, possibly, meat as well. His suspicions were confirmed when a powerful scent of frying bacon wafted out of a single open window to Eragon's sensitive, wolfish nostrils. He whined plaintively, ears drawn back flat, as he struggled to resist diving headlong into the hut and what could possibly be a trap.

It was all too easy to find this new scent and how he found it was very suspicious, what with the blanket of snow and all. Such things did happen from time to time but Eragon was usually cautious enough to avoid them. The place looked empty too aside from puffs of gray smoke floating lazily out of a squat, rectangular chimney and the crackling of a warm fire coming from within the hut.

Eragon whimpered as the smell of luscious meat cooking on a spit intoxicated him. Finally, he was unable to resist and lunged forward. He darted into the house transforming into his human-form as he did so, for he knew that his wolf-form would only get him into trouble inside someone's home. But no sooner had he done so, however, than he was flung back against the wall by an invisible force.

The twelve-year-old groaned as pain lanced up his back and his vision blurred. He glanced down wearily only to see an old man wearing a tattered brown robe and, oddly enough, a silver-gray male wolf sitting at his feet. The man stood before Eragon with a smirk on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His hands were clasped lightly behind his back and he seemed eager for this meeting.

"Another apprentice, I see," The strange man chuckled.

"Who? What?" Eragon stammered, trying to regain his senses. "Who are you and what do you want with me?"

"My name is of no consequence," The old man chuckled lightly. "But what I want with you is more of what do you want with me?"

"I beg your pardon?" Eragon asked in confusion, his eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to decipher the strange hermit's riddle.

"I see old Shadow-Mane taught you no sense of logic and reason," The hermit sighed dramatically. "What a pity, what a pity."

Eragon's mind reeled with shock.

"What do you know of my mentor, old man?" He growled defiantly, struggling against the invisible bonds that held him to the wall.

"I know many things about many people," The hermit revealed mysteriously. "But there are many things that I don't know and can't know also."

"Can you just get to the point," Eragon groused.

"If I must but riddles make an otherwise dry revelation such a joy," The old man said nostalgically, a faraway look in his eyes.

"So tell me then," Eragon hissed. "What do you want with me and what do you know of my mentor?"

"I know that he is a werewolf and that you are also a skin-changer and a Void-walker," The old man answered.

"How?" Eragon asked simply, not wanting to allow the man the pleasure of his surprise at the statement.

"I can peer through the shadow veil, into the world beyond, into the Void," The old man explained. "I have the Eyes of the Other One, the Second People, the Seers and Soothsayers. I am Tenga."

"I guess that's a good explanation as any," Eragon sighed. "Now that that's over with what do you want with me."

"I want much and you want more and fate calls for something greater," The man called Tenga quipped. "But we can't always get what we want in life, can we now?"

"The point being?" Eragon sighed.

"I can help you where your mentor cannot," Tenga answered. "Where the wolf falls I shall rise up, with knowledge of the arcane being more powerful than brute force."

"The arcane," Eragon repeated in confusion.

Then his eyes widened as realisation dawned on him.

"Magic," He gasped.

"Yes, magic!" Tenga exclaimed gleefully. "The supernatural strength that warriors lack, it is the force that moves this world from the shadows, the force that can slay kings and smash armies. It can shape worlds and change destinies. It can be used for good or for evil."

"But I'm a werewolf not a magician!" Eragon protested, recalling the old tales of magic and magicians Brom used to tell him.

"Ah but not so!" Tenga said, wagging a finger in front of Eragon's face. "Not so as you think but so as is in you, magic thrives in your core, thanks to your inner wolf."

"How?" Eragon asked, intrigued.

"Werewolves are not normal mortals, yes?" Tenga enquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Eragon agreed.

"Werewolves, shape-shifters, elves, dragons, dwarves, all not mortal can use magic, some humans too but those be magicians," Tenga revealed. "Magic is all around us, waiting for us to seize it, to use it. To not use magic would be a shame, a waste of precious power the gods bestowed upon us when the world was young."

Eragon didn't know what to think. He just wanted to get out of here and go home but if this crazy old man was right about magic then that could open up so many new doors for him and help him get his revenge in an even better way than before.

"So do I have magic?" Eragon asked.

"We shall see, see we shall, shall we not?" Tenga said eagerly, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"Alright," Eragon allowed, bracing himself for whatever was to come.

"Striker, _seek!_" Tenga barked.

And before Eragon could react, the odd wolf that had been listening to his master's words patiently leapt into the air. Eragon didn't even have time to scream before he lunged for Eragon's heart. But instead of tearing it out as he had thought, the wolf leapt _into_ Eragon's body, merging with his skin, with his form.

Eragon's vision stretched and blurred and his heart pounded wildly. His head felt like it was on fire and his whole body ached. His form wracked with pain as he felt something _wriggle_ inside of him, moving, searching. Just when Eragon thought he couldn't take it any longer, the wolf called Striker jumped out of his body twisting around so that he fell on his paws.

Eragon gasped as he saw the wolf covered in a golden glow and his eyes (unlike most werewolves' eyes and his own when he transformed) were completely golden, without any pupils or irises. Striker barked twice, happily, wagging his tail and lifted up his head uttering a triumphant howl. Tenga laughed joyfully and patted Striker on the head, scratching the wolf behind his ear.

Striker growled low in appreciation and his ears flapped backwards as he enjoyed his master's attention. Eragon watched in stunned amazement as the golden aura that surrounded him pulsed brightly for a few moments before shrinking down into the wolf's soft fur. The light in the wolf's eyes faded also revealing normal dark wolf eyes like a regular canine.

"What just happened there?" Eragon asked incredulously when he finally regained his senses and ability to speak.

"Striker searched, searched for magic, looked for your core," Tenga explained. "And he found it, by the Moon and the Sun he found it, what a good boy!"

Striker barked happily, jumping around his master in circles. He barked one last time before darting off into a corner and leaping into a shadow, vanishing from sight.

Eragon stared at Tenga in shock.

"You have magic, boy," Tenga explained. "You are a magician!"

And so it was that Tenga taught Eragon the Ancient Language and how to cast spells of magic. Eragon was a fast learner despite his initial distrust of magic and the old man. The years sped by fast with his new training course. Having already mastered the ability to shape-shift fully, this was a good way to occupy his time since Eragon soon proved to be a natural at swordplay and using other weapons although he was best with the sword and bow.

So it was that he devoted most of his time to magic and learning the arcane arts. He enjoyed the presence of another wolf although he soon learned that the wolf was a Spirit Wolf, a Void-wolf. But he was bound to his master for some strange reason that Tenga never revealed. Whenever Eragon asked him about it, the old man would clam up and rant eccentrically.

Eragon finally gave up his pursuit about the Spirit Wolf and the slightly eccentric magic-teacher but he learned a lot in his short few years he spent with Tenga.

_- FLASHBACK ENDS -_

In fact, he had just come back from one such lesson. Eragon didn't know how he found the time for all this but he thanked whatever powers might be for his luck and continued to learn. But now he was taking a break and relaxing after a rather strenuous morning.

Of course, his luck in those matters never seemed to last for suddenly he smelt a familiar presence approaching him. He was several feet away, one of Eragon's friends from the village. Eragon was fifteen now as were most of the older boys. He got to visit the village more and more often now which was nice. However, he wondered why the boy Garth was his name had followed him and sought him out.

They all knew that he took long walks in the wilderness and although they thought it peculiar, they left his habits pretty much alone. Now more than ever since he could come more frequently to the village being older and all. So why was Garth running to Eragon?

Heaving a sigh, Eragon tuned into his wolf-sense. Sniffing cautiously, he smelled sweat, dirt, blood from a bruised knee, and..._fear,_ on him. The fear puzzled Eragon the most as well as the worry and anxiety that accompanied it. Not wanting to cause an awkward scenario and embarrass the boy, he quickly slipped out of the pool and cast a quick spell to dry himself.

He was just struggling into his clothes when Garth skidded to a halt, panting for breath and resting his hands on his knees.

"Eragon, thank the gods I found you," He wheezed.

"What happened now?" Eragon sighed. "Did someone break into Horst's smithy and ruin his sacred tools again?"

"Now's not the time for mockery, Eragon," Garth snapped. "Something bad is happening at the village."

Eragon frowned in confusion and struggled to brush aside a sinking feel of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Tell me," Eragon demanded. "What happened now?"

"Swear an oath that you shan't get upset first," Garth stammered.

Eragon sighed. He had gotten into an argument once with the village bully and had allowed his primal instincts to take control. Due to his werewolf strength, the bully was no match for him and Eragon sent the fat tub of lard flying. Everyone made sure to stay on his good side after that.

"I promise," Eragon assured.

"Good," Garth sighed. "Now don't interrupt since we have to get down there quickly. It all started out this afternoon. Roran was down at the village square with Katrina. They were laughing and talking about something when Lord Frostmore appeared on the scene."

Eragon growled in annoyance as he recalled the fat posh nobleman who introduced the new tax and posted guards at the village.

"Anyway," Garth continued hastily. "He laid eyes on Katrina and looked positively evil. He strolled over to her as if he owned the place and started bragging about how a comely girl such as herself deserved a true man, one better than the filth like Roran, his words not mine! He went on to boast about how Lords back in Dras-Leona could do what they wanted with a woman and get away with it so she better obey his wishes or else suffer dire consequences. Things got real bad when he took Katrina's hand in his grubby fingers and mockingly kissed her hand, pretending to be a gentleman but it was obvious that he was not kind at all."

Eragon's eyes flashed with fury making Garth gulp and back away slightly.

"What happened next?" He hissed, struggling to remain calm and not transform due to his bottled rage.

"Katrina spat in the fat codger's face," Garth said with the ghost of a smile. "But that just made things worse and the noble roared in anger. He slapped Katrina and shook his finger in her face, spitting out swear-words like a loose sailor. Roran had enough though and punched the bastard in the stomach. The man went flying."

He paused to catch his breath before continuing. "The people cheered and Roran led Katrina away only to be stopped by the guards. Lord Frostmore got up and commanded that Roran be executed for treason against the Empire in the village square and that everyone watch. The guards were already growing bored so they leapt at this chance. Roran is in chains now. Please do something. He'll be killed!"

"Thank you for telling me this," Eragon whispered hoarsely. "I must go now, I am sorry for what I must do."

"What do you mean?" Garth asked in confusion.

Before the boy could react, Eragon lashed out and used his werewolf-strength to knock the boy unconscious. He didn't strike hard enough to kill the lad but just enough to knock him out since he needed to transform into his wolf-form. The rage was killing him and it had taken every ounce of strength to not transform before now.

He had to transform though in order to deliver justice to the fat old bastard and rid the valley of those diabolical guards. Eragon knew it would turn his world upside-down and he would probably have to escape, but so far no one knew he was a werewolf. So there was a chance he could do it in secret.

Carrying the boy in his arms, Eragon tapped into his enhanced abilities and sprinted down the mountain side so that he could drop the boy off at a safe place and begin the first step to getting his revenge. There was no looking back and he was probably heading down the path to his own destruction.

But Carvahal needed him. Hells, all of Alagaësia needed him which was the reason for his strenuous training and abnormal childhood. No matter. It was all or nothing now. He was just one step away from his destiny, from his revenge. Soon he would begin his lonely road of vengeance; Galbatorix wouldn't know what hit him.

Soon.

**A/N:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know so that I can make this even better yet!

**A/N 2:** Also, if anyone knows of any good documentaries or books about wolves and their habits (not werewolves) I'd like to know about them since there's not too much about wolves on TV. It's mainly about lions and stuff. I just want to know since I want to make Eragon's werewolf form as realistic as possible, especially when it comes to hunting and mannerisms, etc, in his wolf-form. So if you guys have any advice, I'm all ears.

Thanks a bunch in advance!


	5. Retaliation

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the owned! All rights belong to CP and this plot has probably been used before.

**Author's Note:** Firstly, I want to thank you guys for all of your spectacular reviews and ideas. I really appreciate them and I read all of your text on wolves. Also, I know that normal wolves are different than werewolves but I thought that they can be pretty similar so why not try to make it as realistic as possible? Unfortunately, I haven't had the time to look up any documentaries or books about wolves but I do know a thing or two and your info about them was also quite helpful. I will continue to look it up though since I want to write this story as best as I am able too.

Moving on, I don't have too much to say other than this chapter probably deserves an "M" rating due to violence, bloodshed, mentions of rape (although I don't get into detail at all so don't worry) and a character death which is slightly worse and more intense than is in the books. As for who it is, I'll let you guess although if you have read the books recently the person should be obvious. But I'll shut up now and let you guys read the chapter. Also, let me know if you think this should be moved up to an "M" rating or if I should just say what chapters are "M" and stuff.

Anyhow, thanks again so much for all your comments and tips and stuff. I really appreciate them and they are what keep this story going. Well, enough said. Well, all that aside here's the next episode of "Inner Wolf" and the first real action in the story before the true adventure starts (if it begins). Let the chapter begin!

**CHAPTER 5:** Retaliation

An inky darkness covered the sky, blotting out even the stars and moon by the time Eragon returned to the village. Despite his enhanced, werewolf-rendered speed, it still took several hours to run down the mountains of the Spine due to the rocky terrain, the distance he was from the village, and his friend Garth. The poor village boy didn't know what hit him and awoke groggily sometime on the journey, forcing Eragon to make him go back to sleep using a quick spell from the Ancient Language.

Utilizing his werewolf-stalking abilities that he used to hunt down prey, Eragon slunk through the unsurprisingly-empty village so that he could drop his friend off at his house. He hoped Garth did not remember anything of his werewolf-form from waking up along the way, or else he would have to silence him. It would be a pity considering how the boy was always one of his more faithful friends, but his secret was more important.

His magic teacher, Tenga, had spoken of mind magic but said it was too complex for him to learn at such a young age. He had said that there were evil people who violated the Ancient Language by using it to peer in his mind and look through his thoughts, hopes, dreams, anything that passed through his head really. If they did, there was no stopping them from finding out he was a werewolf. But thanks to his wolf-form, his link to the Void acted as a sort of buffer against most mind magic.

Only an extremely power magician, one who was also a Void-walker like him, could pass through the barrier, unless he granted him or her permission. Tenga was brief on the matter but said that his enhanced senses would easily pick up someone trying to spy on his thoughts and his werewolf-form would act as a type of armour against it. His inner wolf, the one in his head, would block off the intruder. Therefore, Eragon was a bit concerned that Garth might remember something from the trip down to the valley.

If he did, then he would discover his secret. As of now, Eragon didn't know a way to stop him short of killing him and he didn't want to kill his friend. But if he was forced to, if he found out that Garth knew of his secret, he would do so without regret. His secret was more important for if news leaked out that he was a werewolf, he would most likely be shunned from the village and branded as an outlaw, a demon. He would be hunted down like an animal and Galbatorix would also find him.

But he had bigger things to worry about how and so he pushed aside his worry for the time being: Roran demanded his attention and Katrina too. That evil bastard, Lord Frostmore, had earned his wrath and Eragon needed retribution. He would not let his blood kin, one of the last few members of his mortal pack, die.

Not while he had the strength left to stop it!

With that thought in mind, Eragon transformed into his wolf-form. He revelled in the feeling of power, dominance, and authority it gave him, the sensation of skin-changing was almost intoxicating. If he had any say in it, he'd be in his wolf-form for his entire life.

Sadly, defeating Galbatorix demanded being sly and crafty so he had to use all his skills and abilities to his advantage and that included being human, although due to his constant changing into a supernatural creature, a being of myth and legend, the boy often wondered if there was any human left within him.

No matter.

He did not need to be human to reap his revenge. If he was human while he did so, his pesky mortal emotions would only get in the way of justice, of his vengeance. With those thoughts in mind, Eragon focussed solely on revenge and decided to use his enhanced abilities towards that end.

The only problem standing in his way was that a myriad of houses, stalls, and farmland stood between him and the village square. He didn't quite care about ruining a farmer's crop since the season was almost over now anyways due to the approach of winter.

However, if he'd track through the fine earth he would leave paw prints. Naturally, his gigantic paws could only resemble one thing and his secret would be undoubtedly discovered. No, he had to find a way to get to the execution block swiftly without leaving tracks. Suddenly, an idea struck him and he glanced upwards appraisingly.

A feral glint of triumph sparked in his eyes as he discovered that his idea could work out: The roofs of all the houses, or most of them anyways, were tiled. They had to be since it snowed and rained with much more force than it did in the big cities where smoke and smog was more abundant and tarnished the atmosphere.

Thus, the roofs had to be incredibly strong to support the heavy weight of thick layers of snow lest the house's owners be crushed beneath them. That meant it could handle a really heavy person...or creature. Eragon's heart beat rapidly in excitement and his tail wagged in anticipation as he considered testing his theory.

Throwing caution to the wind, he leapt onto the slanted, tiled roof and staggered as he slid slightly. But thanks to his enhanced abilities and his large claws, he was able to get a firm grip on the tiled roof...and it held. Howling in triumph, Eragon leapt from roof-top to roof-top careful to avoid the ones that looked weaker and were farther apart.

Due to the gathering at the village square, not a soul was around granting Eragon easy access. He slipped sometimes but it was pretty much smooth-sailing and soon he reached the village square. Panting for breath, he surveyed the scene struggling to fend off the loud whispers that assaulted his ears, the dozens of hear-beats, the stench of blood, sweat, and the myriad of emotions he sensed: Fear, anger, assent, worry, glee, and boredom.

Eragon struggled to contain his own feelings: The barely controlled rage that threatened to shatter. His claws clenched the tiles, nearly ripping them to shreds as he tried to contain himself. He had to do this right and avoid harming any of the villagers most of whom were good friends of him, Roran, and Uncle Garrow. Speaking of which, Eragon saw the latter two and the sight made him see red.

His cousin was kneeling on a crudely-fashioned platform constructed from barrels, boxes, beams and planks of wood. A block of wood with a dip at one end for a chin to rest in was positioned near the front of the stage and Roran knelt before it, his head held up defiantly.

An icy, frigid wind whipped through his shaggy brown hair and his gray eyes stared out boldly amongst the crowd. His arms were hooked over a heavy-looking oak that he was shackled to by thick, iron chains that left nasty red scars on his ankles and wrists. Roran wore no shirt revealing a bloody back from several whip lashes making Eragon growl in anger.

A beefy-looking man wielding a heavy executioner's axe stood next to Eragon, dressed in a military outfit with the Empire's emblem. His face was covered by an executioner's hood except for holes that revealed dark, gleeful eyes. The fat blubbery nobleman stood opposite him, also on the stage, dressed in his best.

His hair was greasy as ever and his eyes peered out at the bustling, murmuring crowd before him with unabashed glee as he obviously enjoyed the feeling of power standing over the execution gave him. Further enhancing the Lord's arrogance were the couple dozen guards also dressed in the same livery as the executioner minus the hood.

They all wielded pikes and short swords, some of which they were sharpening whilst sitting down on a barrel. Some of the guards were lying around on some chairs, playing cards and gambling about something that obviously had to do with the execution due to how their eyes flicked back and forth from Roran to the executioner.

Struggling to remain calm and not blow his cover before the time was right, Eragon surveyed the crowd and was relieved to see that most had angry looks in their eyes. Most of the villagers were evidently against the clearing although a few of the finer-dressed ones looked either bored or were supporting the nobleman.

Eragon had no doubt that they were planted in the crowd or paid to make the nobleman look like a hero and Roran seem to be a villain. Eragon deduced this from the way that these particular people were crying out for Roran's death, calling him things like traitor and scum of the earth.

On the far side of the crowd near the back, Eragon spotted Katrina. The young woman who was like a sister and a mother to him was being held by a morose-looking Gertrude and flanked on either side by a glowering Brigit and a concerned-looking Elain. Horst was holding his wife and trying to comfort her while glaring fiercely at Sloan who stood proudly near Lord Frostmore, a cocky grin on his face.

Suddenly, an agonized wail pierced the fearful whispers causing the crowd to hush. As one being, the crowd parted making way for a few soldiers who were dragging a struggling older farmer also in chains: Uncle Garrow. Eragon's heart sank as he saw rage on his guardian's face transform to sorrow and grief. Tears sprang to the old man's eyes as he saw his son at the chopping block.

He tore away from the guards and ran to his son, babbling incoherently. Roran looked at his father in distress and tried to warn him away, for his own safety, but Eragon's uncle was now beyond reason. He ignored his son's protest and Lord Frostmore's orders to stay put. Eragon nearly snapped when the old man was yanked back by his hair by a guard who was yelling angrily at him.

Some of the younger children and Eragon's friends started crying and a few of the women began to sob, burying their faces in their husband's chests. The men simply stood there, unable to do anything but glare angrily at their oppressor. The crowd watched in an eerie silence, only broken by the crackling of thunder and billowing of storm-clouds, as Uncle Garrow was beaten viciously by the guards.

"Enough!"

The guards looked up in annoyance only to see their master, Lord Frostmore, whose arms were spread wide open. A sickly serene look was etched on his face and his whole body was still as he tried to make a grand impact on the people, being disillusioned with visions of his own grandeur. The sight made Eragon's blood boil.

"People of Carvahall!" The nobleman cried with a loud, dignified voice. "The time has come for change. The Empire has finally come to accept that and does her best to be a conduit for change, change that will only make our great people prosperous so that we can all enjoy a Golden Age. But as with any change, there will always be those who refuse to conform. There will be those who have been so stuck in their ways and so spoiled that their sheer arrogance and pride blinds them to what is needed for the good of the Empire, for her people. You see such a man before you!"

Several people in the crowd booed but it was a minority. The rest watched the nobleman give his speech with distain and contempt. Eragon braced himself. He knew the time to strike was soon.

"These people are not deserving of being called human!" The man continued, swelling up with pride at what he thought was a good reaction to his speech. "These dissenters are not human: They are weeds and should be plucked up from the Empire, and _burned _for their treachery and betrayal. King Galbatorix, out of the goodness and kindness of his heart, has given you all a chance to conform to the change that is blowing across the Empire.

Lord Frostmore paused to let his words sink in, his evil eyes sweeping across the crowd.

Then he continued, "These winds of change will not be stopped. They must be embraced. You can all either side with us, with the Empire, or be plucked out and cast aside like this traitor before you. You cannot mess around any longer or sit on the fence. The time has come to decide and this bastard has chosen his side already. As a result, he is not fit to walk this good earth any longer and must be cut down to size. For the Empire!"

War drums began to beat as was common for an execution. It enhanced the foreboding and ominous atmosphere, preparing the people for death. After a few tense moments, the nobleman stepped a couple paces back and gave a solemn nod to the executioner. His minion nodded back respectfully and hefted his axe, raising it in the air.

A hush fell over the crowd as they held their breath, anticipating the final death blow with dread and anxiety. Parents covered their children's faces and some people looked away. But most watched in a dazed stupor as if bewitched into a trance as the axe raised higher and higher into the air.

The axe fell.

Roran gazed passionately at Katrina, mouthing 'I love you' to the woman of his dreams. He gazed into the teary eyes of his father and smiled sadly at him, mouthing 'good bye' and putting all the unsaid love and gratitude he felt into the look.

Uncle Garrow had finally caved and stopped struggling. Instead, he wailed in agony as his grief took over him.

Suddenly, the gloomy atmosphere was shattered by a strangled cry of pain. The crowd watched in shock as the executioner's throat was torn out by a gigantic, dark silver wolf.

Fresh blood splashed everywhere and the axe spun out of the black-hooded henchman's grip as he fell backwards, arms and legs flailing and his eyes rolling in the back of his head. The crowd gasped in shock as the axe soared into the air by the sheer force of the executioner being flung away by the titanic wolf.

They winced and grimaced as the axe smashed into Lord Frostmore's head with a sickening thud. The proud and arrogant nobleman froze as his nervous system was fried and the audience looked away as droops of blood dripped down his face. The nobleman's body swayed haphazardly from side to side, teetering backwards, before collapsing like a lifeless ragdoll.

For a moment, there was a tense and utter silence.

Then the people watched in shock as the pony-sized wolf stood up on his hind legs as if he was a human. They gaped in stunned disbelief as he stretched out his arms in defiance, throwing his head back slightly and releasing a snarling howl of triumph. Seconds later, the guards snapped out of their daze and roared battle-cries of their own in retaliation.

The guards charged, some making for Roran and others aiming at the waiting wolf. The giant beast turned his head for the fraction of a minute to the stunned man at the chopping block and snarled, "Run you fool!"

Roran needed no further urging and snapped out of his reverie. Shaking his head in disbelief at his unexpected saviour, he leapt onto his feet only to stagger slightly under the weight of his chains. With a mighty heave, he swung at the guards nearest to him, knocking one off the stage with his wooden yoke. The guard flew backwards with a cry of pain and landed on the cobblestones of the town square, cracking his neck as he did so.

The farmer's son promptly threw up at the sight but did not have time to wallow in self-pity at his actions for another guard rushed at him, screaming fiendishly. With a roar of his own, Roran charged at the guard smashing the other end of his wooden yoke into his face. The guard wailed in pain and clutched at his bruised face, staggering backwards. Roran spun around in the nick of time and ducked as another guard nearly stabbed him in the back with a pike.

Roran didn't know where he got the strength or the guts to do so but he nonetheless sprang into action and wacked the pike away from the soldier with his yoke. Not wasting any time, Roran lunged forward and hugged the man's neck with his chains that were still attached to his wrist. The man screamed and groped at his neck for relief, his legs kicking and flailing as his throat was strangled by iron chains. Roran grimaced as the man's face turned purple and then white, the soldier's eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Eragon, meanwhile, was similarly occupied although he was putting his wolf-form to good use, revelling in the glorious feeling of battle as he slew soldier after soldier. A young pike-man no older than eighteen rushed up to him shouting, "For the Empire!" Eragon merely snarled at him causing the soldier to shriek like a little girl and drop his pike. Still standing on two legs, Eragon didn't have to put in too much effort as the boy turned around and ran. Smirking inwardly, his right arm lashed out and his piercing sharp claws slashed at the soldier's back.

Since the execution wasn't meant to involve a battle, the soldiers had only come dressed in robes and with a suit of flimsy chainmail. This was ripped to shreds easily as Eragon sliced through them, killing the soldier with one blow. Other soldiers charged at him cursing him and calling him names like 'demon' and 'devil.' Eragon ignored them though. Instead, he put his natural weapons to good use: Slashing and snapping with his powerful foreclaws and biting and crunching with his jaws.

Just then, Horst the blacksmith came running up with a hammer. Eragon's heart sank as he feared Horst was about to attack them. But instead, the old smith smashed the well-worn hammer against the iron cuffs that shackled the yoke's chains around Roran's wrists. Roran winced as he felt the impact and staggered onto one knee but groaned in relief as the hammer broke the shackles in half, the chains slipping out of place and the yoke falling off his back.

"Thanks, friend," Roran grinned weakly. "When this is all over, remind me that I owe you a debt."

"No problem," Horst chuckled.

The man froze in shock as Roran snatched the hammer out of his hands...

...and spun around bringing it down soundly on the shoulder of a soldier's sword-arm, causing the attacker to scream in pain and fall to the ground.

"I think you just paid your debt," Horst said in awe as he realised he would have been killed.

"Maybe," Roran said and swung around flinging the hammer into the face of an approaching soldier.

"Hope you don't mind," Horst said as he ducked out of the way of a cursing pike-man. "But I got to go check on my family and I will make sure Katrina is safe."

"Thank you," Roran replied loudly over the din of battle as he ended another soldier's life.

Without another word, the blacksmith shook his head in disbelief and ran off in the direction of his wife who was currently fending off an angry-looking soldier with a broom that had been lying nearby.

Eragon and Roran soon found themselves fighting back to back as the soldiers closed in all around them. Roran didn't even have time to marvel at the oddity of fighting side by side with some bizarre wolf-like creature nor did Eragon even care that everyone saw him and that his concentration might slip revealing his human-self.

The two young men were currently fighting for their life, hewing down soldier after soldier. All around them was utter chaos. The common villagers, having long-since harboured a bitter hatred for the foreign soldiers and their abnormally high tax and cruelty in general, had been whipped up into a frenzy.

Even the women were fighting with brooms, staves, and pitchforks while the children and youths threw rocks, mud, and dung at the soldiers from the roof-tops. Since there were no weapons in this village aside from some puny hunting bows and sharpened staves to ward off wild animals, the men of the village were all grouped together attempting to use their strength in numbers to act as a blockade against the soldiers who were trying to get to their women and children so as to use them as hostages.

Some succeeded but the idea of bargaining chips flew out the window and the soldiers gave into their long-controlled frustration, boredom, lust, and hatred taking it out all on the poor women and girls they caught by raping them viciously. Some of the men attacked them and tried to take them off their wives and daughters and sisters only to be struck down and killed.

As bloodlust overwhelmed nearly all the soldiers, the mob-spirit took control and some resorted to pillaging and ransacking the few valuables and food supplies that the villagers owned. One soldier in particular had been bored stiff with their task of monitoring the village and being unable to touch anything. When the riot started, he snapped and now was beyond control. Driven near-insanity, the soldier grabbed a nearby torch and was running to Eragon brandishing the burning torch wildly.

However, there were several food stalls in the way since the village square was somewhat of a small market place for when the Traders and travellers would pass through. This meant the thatched roofs of the stalls would catch fire and the walls of flame would leap from building to building and probably set the crops on fire too. The man didn't care but someone did and this someone was on the cusp of insanity as well having been beaten violently, nearly senseless, only moments earlier.

The person was none other than Garrow who charged after the man as if he was the devil himself, with such a burning hatred in his eyes and a roar so loud and terrible that it made everyone, including Roran and Eragon, stop and look at him.

Time slowed and Eragon's vision blurred. The screams of pain, rage, and sounds of battle and the riot faded eerily as Eragon saw his uncle surge through the crowd. For some bizarre reason, he knew what was about to happen and knew he could not stop it.

He watched in terror as Uncle Garrow ran to the man, ramming him over by butting his head into his chest. The man gave a gurgle of pain as he fell on his back and Uncle Garrow smashed him in the face with his fist repeatedly. So overwhelmed by grief and wrath was he that Eragon's uncle did not realise he was about to meet his death.

For a split second, everything froze and ceased to move.

Then the world snapped back into full force and noise and insanity heralded by a dull thud as the burning torch fell onto Uncle Garrow. The old man screamed as his hair and clothes caught fire and wailed in excruciating pain as he ran around chaotically trying to put out the flames.

But no one could do anything aside from watch in horror as the old farmer was burned alive, they even ignored the pitiful whimpers of pain from the man Uncle Garrow punched senseless. The villagers and soldiers alike watched in shock as Uncle Garrow charged into a nearby empty house, still screaming, and winced as the whole house burst into flames.

In that split second, Eragon snapped and felt himself losing his grip on his wolf-form as it dawned on him that his uncle was burned to death. He ignored the cries and sobs of the villagers and watched in a daze as everything transpired in a blur. He could vaguely here someone calling his name, shouting desperately above the din of battle and renewed vehemence of the villagers as they overwhelmed the guards, being spurned on by the ghastly death of one of their own.

Black spots danced in his vision and Eragon barely registered feeling pain as soldiers beat down on him viciously. He could hardly feel anything anymore as he struggled to keep himself from _Turning_ although he vaguely sensed someone dragging him away from the chaos. The last thing he saw before passing out was a blurred form of Brom's worried face.

But by then, Eragon was long gone, the adrenalin rush of battle having faded from him. Utterly exhausted and completely spent, he threw caution to the wind and closed his eyes, sinking into a deep, deep sleep and letting the world fend for itself.

Eragon was at peace.

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**A/N:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Let me know what you think so that I can make this even better yet!

**A/N:** Evil cliffy I know but you all will see what happens in the next chapter, if Eragon survives, and how this AU will merge into the canon books. Since it is an AU things will be different especially now that Eragon's a werewolf. But you'll see what I'm talking about, so good bye for now and thanks in advance for any feedback you might have for me!


	6. Sapphire

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the owned! All rights belong to Christopher Paolini and no copyright infringement is at all intended.

**Author's Note:** First of all, I'm sorry for the longish wait but this chapter was kind of tough to write for some reason. Guess it's because (near the end) it's finally merging with the canon fiction so that was probably why. Moving on I want to thank you all who took the time to review and comment. You guys are awesome and what really keep this story going. As for the question of whether or not Eragon will become a Dragon Rider, I think the last paragraph at the end gives a big hint. So without any further ado, allow me to present you with the next episode of "Inner Wolf!"

**P.S.** As you read the chapter, try to guess why the chapter has its current title. Just for fun if you want.

**CHAPTER 6:** Sapphire

When Eragon came to, he felt groggy and disoriented. His head throbbed with pain and his body ached all over even in places he didn't think were possible. He was drenched in a cold sweat and his tousled brown hair was matted and tangled. Needless to say, he wasn't feeling too hot and actually felt quite sick to the stomach.

The young shape-shifter glanced outside only to see a light dismal rain falling from the sky. A light fog danced through the air and bouts of thunder boomed in the heavens as if to prove its dominance. Shivering from the frigid cold, Eragon pulled a thick warm blanket tighter about him and rolled over on his side in a feeble attempt to fall back asleep.

_Wait, what?_ Eragon thought in confusion.

His mind reeled with shock as he suddenly realised he had not remembered falling asleep or recalled it raining either although he had seen some heavy-looking storm clouds earlier. Just then, there was a brilliant flash of fork-lightning that struck the earth at some far-off point and with the bright light, memories flashed through Eragon's mind.

The previous evening shot back into his awareness and he recalled everything about the ill-fated execution, the fight, the riot, his uncle's death... Eragon felt a sudden pang of grief and guilt as he realised his guardian, his father-figure, was no more. True Brom had tried to be like a second father to him but it just wasn't the same. Brom was more of a teacher, a mentor, not really a father.

What with all his training in weaponry, shape-shifting, and magic, Eragon hadn't had nearly enough time to spend with Uncle Garrow as he should have and now he regretted it. He had been so caught up in his hatred of the Empire that he had forgotten what he should have been paying attention to. Of course the Empire would hit him where it hurt. If they found out he was a werewolf, they'd attack his relatives and friends.

Uncle Garrow had accepted him without question from his mother, Selena, and raised him as one of his own. He wasn't the best of nephews, or sons, but now there was no chance to apologise for all of his childhood mistakes and all of his shortcomings. He didn't even help with the farm very much as he was occupied with the training. It was a wonder that Uncle Garrow even let him stay around at all!

Now he was dead, burned alive. It was all his fault! If he hadn't given into his beast rage, his baser instincts, than perhaps there was a chance he could have saved him. But he had been so focused on his wrath at the Empire for slaughtering all of his kin that he had let his werewolf side take over him and there was no reasoning with Eragon when he was a beast. If he had but used the gifts that Tenga and Brom had bestowed on him than Uncle Garrow might have survived.

But now he was dead and it was all his fault. He could never look at Roran in the same way again, not after he let Uncle Garrow die. Hells, Roran probably hated his guts right now as did half the village. For due to the riot, the villagers would now be considered outlaws. Even if none of the soldiers made it back to their master, the lack of reports and tax coming from the village would arouse suspicion. The Empire would send someone(s) to investigate leading to an even worse fate for Carvahall, since they'd likely brand the villagers as traitors and bring the army in.

Martial law was ten times worse than the previous tax regime and the valley would most likely be turned into a slave labour camp. Eragon groaned and sat up, burying his face in his hands. Ignoring his pain, he wept bitterly at his stupidity. Why couldn't he rein in his anger, his wrath? Why did he have to let it consume him? Now the village was most likely in shambles and everyone would have to run away or fight off a Legion. Roran would still be a traitor, even more so for fighting against the law and his uncle, Roran's father, was dead.

Suddenly, Eragon heard the methodical beating of a heart and the scuffling of boots and a cloak against rock. His warfare training kicked in and in his enraged, sorrowful state, he didn't care to check who it was. He wanted to punch someone, to get all the anger and grief out of his system. In one swift, fluid moment, he unsheathed his short sword Brom had given him for training practice that lay beside his bed, leapt onto his feet, and pointed the sword blade at the neck of the intruder. Drying his eyes, he saw that it was none other than Brom who had a sad look in his eyes but was not shocked by his sudden ferocity at all.

"Easy there, cub," The old man chuckled dryly. "You just might get someone hurt with that thing."

"Where am I and why are you here?" Eragon snapped, feeling irritated at Brom's comment.

"Why don't you put that blade down and we can talk it over a cup of tea like two civil human beings," Brom retorted.

Eragon snarled in frustration and Brom arched an eyebrow, completely unfazed.

"Fine," Eragon hissed. "But you better start talking, and fast. I'm not in the mood for riddles or your wild tales."

"Agreed," Brom sighed. "I don't really feel like being the grizzled old storyteller today."

Eragon rolled his eyes and sheathed his sword sharply, enjoying the hiss of metal against the scabbard. Placing the sword beside his bed he stood up and glanced around him, studying his surroundings. Oddly enough, they were in a cave of sorts although it looked like it had been lived in at times.

There were a few sleeping cots with blankets and ragged pillows in the corner and one where Eragon had been lying on. Opposite them stood a table crowned with cheese, roasted venison, ale, water and tea, as well as a few hunks of bread. The table was surrounded by a few crudely made chairs. Aside from a couple boxes and barrels, the cave was otherwise empty except for a narrow tunnel that ran into the heart of the mountain at the back.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon trudged over to the table and helped himself to seat. Folding his arms across his chest, he waited as Brom sat down and poured the two of them some tea. He gave a cup to Eragon and took one for himself. After taking a deep, leisurely sip Brom sighed and placed the cup down on the table. He stared at the steam climbing lazily into the air from the cup as if collecting his thoughts. Finally, he spoke and when he did, Eragon was mildly surprised to find that he sounded much older and more weary than ever before.

"There are many things I wish to tell you, cub," Brom murmured quietly. "But I don't know quite where to begin."

"There you go again," Eragon said in annoyance. "Why are you calling me cub? You did it twice now and you never did it before."

Brom glanced at Eragon with an amused smirk on his face making the teenager bristle.

"Perhaps it is because you are one," Brom chuckled.

"What?" Eragon asked in confusion.

A thought crossed his mind and he suddenly grew very worried. His mind flashed back to when he was losing grip on his second skin near the end of the fight and he remembered seeing the blurry face of Brom hovering over him. His eyes widened in shock and horror and he sought out Brom's face seeing a knowing smile on it.

"You knew!" Eragon said accusingly. "You knew that I was a werewolf."

"Ah, so you are one?" Brom shot back.

Eragon wanted to kick himself for being so stupid. Brom had likely suspected and now he had confirmed his suspicions. How could he be so stupid?

"How did you guess?" Eragon asked dully.

"It was quite easy, actually," Brom smirked, taking another sip of tea.

"How so?" Eragon sighed.

"A number of things gave you away," Brom explained. "First, there was how you started talking odd, calling the young ones at the village, your little friends amongst them, cub or pup. I do believe that is a normal thing amongst wolf pack, yes?"

Eragon nodded dumbly and Brom gave a faint smile.

"Next, I noticed rather prominent tuffs of hair behind your ears," Brom continued. "While rather small they are still there if you'll look close enough and that is another trademark of lycanthropy."

Eragon winced and scratched behind his ears, stomping his foot in annoyance at his stupidity.

"Moving on I noticed you liked eating meat more and more than usual," Brom revealed. "Raw meat, in particular or as under-cooked as possible. That is not quite so normal but I ignored that. What I could not ignore though was your enhanced, barely hidden abilities: Namely strength and speed. I don't doubt you have more but I noticed out of the corner of my eye that you could carry things far too heavy for ten men, while no one was looking. You could jump from the roof of a barn and not get hurt. In fact, you landed on your feet sometimes and always seemed fine. Your speed was unnaturally fast too. If all of those signs are not trademarks of Lycanthropy then I don't know what is."

Eragon groaned and buried his face in his hands at his stupidity. If it hadn't been for the tax resulting in the extra work load for his family and friends, they might have noticed too and his secret would have been revealed. Truth be told, it was only mere luck that saved him and he could not always depend on luck.

"Was I that obvious?" The dismayed werewolf asked weakly.

"Rather," Brom nodded. "So I take it you _are_a skin-changer then?"

It was too late to say no and besides, Brom saved him in the battle when he passed out and probably slipped back into his human form. He owed him.

"Yes," Eragon sighed.

Brom's eyes lit up brightly and he actually looked proud of Eragon, much to the youth's surprise.

"You...you don't..._hate_ me for what I am?" He asked thickly, now thoroughly bewildered.

"No, Eragon," Brom said gently. "I could never hate you."

"But Uncle Garrow died because of me!" Eragon exclaimed.

All his life he had grown up thinking that everyone everywhere hated werewolves. That one crazy old warrior-turned-story-teller did not was highly unbelievable. And at the moment, Eragon was still wallowing in pity and feeling sorry for himself.

"That was not your fault, Eragon," Brom replied sadly. "You did what you could and did what many people have wanted to do for years now. It was a battle and risks are common place in battle, let alone war. Don't beat yourself up over it."

Eragon gripped the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turned white. His eyes grew hard and cold and when he spoke his voice was icy and deadly.

"My uncle was beaten, chained like a slave, and burned alive due to my lack of control," He hissed, making Brom grimace. "My cousin nearly died and has probably been declared an outlaw since I do not doubt that at least one of those soldiers escaped and reported to their master. Furthermore, the village was sacked and almost torched. Children had to fight to defend their homes, women were raped, and men were slaughtered. They were all simple farmers, wood-cutters, and fishermen. They did not deserve any of this and it all happened because of me! How can you say it was not my fault?"

"Be that as it may," Brom said firmly. "You are a werewolf, Eragon. You have a destiny to fulfil and duty to your people, to your deceased pack. You cannot let yourself sink into depression, not while your task is yet unfinished."

"My task?" Eragon growled, making Brom pale slightly. "My task? MY TASK? I am the last of my kind, old man! My entire race was massacred due to treachery and deceit. My life as I know it has just been turned upside-down. The only real father figure in my life has been burned alive. The villagers cannot go back to how things were and Roran is probably on the run and yet you rant and rave about _DESTINY?_ Have you taken leave of your senses? The only destiny is the fate we make for ourselves, that we forge in our own blood, sweat, and tears. I have no destiny. I serve no one. My deceased kin demand vengeance and that is all I shall be able to give them."

Without another word, Eragon paused and sucked in ragged breath. Sweat beaded on his brow and his chest heaved as he fought off his bottled rage that reared its ugly head. Brom had turned white, his eyes sad and full of remorse yet fearful and worried at the same time.

"Eragon..." He began, but then his hands fell to his side and he hung his head in defeat.

Eragon paused for the fraction of a moment, hesitating. But the need to be alone and mourn the loss of his mortal uncle was so strong that he finally snapped and bolted out of the cave, surging up the mountain despite the lashing rain and shrieking wind.

"Eragon!" Brom called, his voice dying in the storm. "I'm sorry! Please..."

But Eragon ignored him, letting his baser instincts dominating his logic and reason.

- PAGE BREAK -

For what seemed like hours maybe days, Eragon ran. The entire duration of his flight was covered by sheets of rain that fell from the sky. Powerful bolts of fork-lighting split the gray darkness at irregular intervals making the air crackle with electricity and raw power. Far up above, thunder boomed in the heavens like a bear robbed of her young and still Eragon ran.

Finally, exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks and the youth staggered. He almost fell over but caught himself just in time by leaning heavily on his knees. Panting and gasping for breath, he glanced up at the still-darkened sky. It was only raining lightly now, a mere drizzle, but thunder still rattled the sky and a sporadic sheet of pale purple lightning illuminated the wet and drab mountains.

But not all of the wetness on Eragon's face was caused by the rain storm. In fact, most of it was from tears that streaked down his face. His whole body shook as he mourned, sobs wracking his frame. Distraught and tired from his run, Eragon sank to his knees with an anguished cry. He knew Uncle Garrow would not want him to mourn so but his uncle was dead and it was all because of him.

A spark of anger kindled within him and an evil glint flashed in Eragon's brown eyes. A maniacal grin split his face, crowned by his sharp pointy canine teeth as he thought of a use for his eccentric magic tutor's lessons. Summoning up the little strength left within him, he let his rage and grief fuel his purpose.

"_**Kveykva!"**_ (1)

The word, a spell of power taking shape in the devastating form of a lightning bolt, danced off Eragon's lips falling from his tongue as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

As soon as the word departed from him, he raised his right hand up and brought it down sharply and savagely. He watched in satisfied glee as a powerful blue lightning bolt exploded from his hand, lashing out through the air and landing on a poor sapling that burst into flames.

Enraged beyond comprehension, Eragon lost himself in the use of magic uttering every powerful destructive spell he could recall.

"_**Kveykva! Kveykva! Brisingr! Jierda! Brakka! Garjzla!"**_

Spell after spell leapt from his lips.

Lightning, flames, frost, stones, and more exploded into a terrifying, devastating being, leaving untold death and destruction in their wake.

After a time, Eragon's magic dimmed. Having used so much of it, his power lessoned fading slightly as it needed to be recharged in the Void. For a great use of magic claims an even larger toll on the body and Eragon was once again on his knees.

His entire body was drenched in sweat. His hair was wild and dishevelled. Large red-rimmed bags of weariness hung under Eragon's eyes and his body trembled with exhaustion from all the magic he used.

All around him, pillars of smoke arose in the air. Sulphur and ashes assaulted his nostrils and a deathly stillness alarmed Eragon, along with the putrid stench of death caused by whatever wildlife dwelt in this province of the Spine.

Utterly spent and exhausted, Eragon collapsed onto his back. He shivered feverishly, tears springing to his eyes as he realised what he had done. He had only made things worse and let his anger get the better of him once again.

While he needed the relief, it only showed that he was a spoiled and arrogant brat who had too much power heaped onto him. He did not do anything to earn his strengths, he did not deserve them. He just let his feeble, human emotions and mortal weaknesses get the better of him and that did no one any good.

He had wrecked a quarter of the Spine and had probably killed twice as many innocent animals and birds who nested in these woods. If he had subjected himself to logic and reason, he would have realised that Brom spoke sense. But sadly, such was not so and now he was worse off for it.

"I'm sorry," Eragon whispered hoarsely to no one in particular. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Shadow-Mane, Uncle, Roran. Anyone. Let me have another chance. A chance to prove myself, a chance to earn my powers. I never wanted this. But now I know that the hand of providence has little regard for my wishes. Please help me, someone, anybody."

For several agonisingly long moments, there was a complete utter silence. Eragon began to feel foolish for his plaintive prayer and was just about to chastise himself for doing so.

But suddenly, miraculously, there was a brilliant flash of white glorious light accompanied by a clap of silent thunder. Eragon was flung back by an unseen force and raised his arm over his eyes, wincing as the bright light nearly blinded him.

When his head cleared and the light faded, he lowered his arm cautiously. Drying his eyes, he pulled himself to his knees and peered out curiously at what the light had left for him.

He was not really asking for help, he did not deserve it. But despite all that, he was shocked to see something left in the place of the stunning ethereal light: A large and elegant-looking sapphire-blue stone!

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**A/N:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know so I can make this even better yet!

**A/N 2:** By the way, I don't know any real spells in the _Inheritance Cycle_ so I had to look them up online which kind of sucked since I just picked some words that seemed to make sense as magic spells. So if any of you guys are veterans of the Ancient Language in the Eragon novels, I'd really appreciate it if you could compose a short understandable list for me of spells that make sense for all purposes and ones that aren't in the books too (new ones) and PM me. That would be awesome!

And moving on...

**A/N 3:** Soooo...Eragon has found Saphira's egg! How's it? Okay? So-so? Terrible? And what of Brom? Will they be reconciled? Furthermore, what happened to Roran and will Eragon join the Varden? Since the Ra'zak didn't attack them they have no reason to join the rebels. But all that shall be revealed in future chapters as this A/U finally merges with the canon books, so do stay tuned for the next episode of "Inner Wolf!"

By the way, I just remembered/realized that it was a contingent of the Empire's army that attacked the village, burned his uncle, and almost executed his cousin. So actually, he does have quite a few reasons to join the Varden. Nonetheless, he is a werewolf (still uncertain if I should make him an Alpha werewolf since that is really cliche) so he is quite independent. Therefore, he might be very reluctant to join the Varden, lead armies, and even become Bonded to Saphira. Just some things to ponder, perhaps.


	7. Conversations

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the _Inheritance Cycle_ or the disclaimer...just like last chapter.

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for your stunning reviews guys! You all are epic and I never tire of hearing from you. Moving on, this chapter was a little tough to write for some reason and I almost stopped to finish it later. Guess it's because it's merging with AU finally but because of events in this chapter, things that happened in canon will be different namely Arya's capture and her resulting torture at the hands of Durza. Due to the events that transpire in this chapter, you'll see just how things will be different. I only hope I don't change them too much making writing the AU that much more complicated. Oh, well. Methinks that's all for now so without any further ado, let the update begin!**  
**

**CHAPTER 7:** Conversations

Eragon walked back into camp like a man in a trance. He cradled the sapphire blue stone in his arms as if it was the most precious and sacred thing in the world. He ignored how tired and exhausted he was from using all that magic and all the running he did. He had also forgotten about how embracing it would be to return to camp after running off like that and yelling at Brom.

What he said might have been the truth but Brom didn't deserve it. He was merely trying to look out for him and console him, Eragon realized it now. But his thoughts were not on Brom as he trudged down the mountainside. They were on the stone in his hands for the stone was not a stone but a giant egg: A dragon's egg.

He could tell it was one due to the veins and how it felt hollow when he tapped it. Using his enhanced werewolf senses, he could also hear a steady heartbeat coming from within the egg and sensed a living presence inside it. He couldn't see what was inside it but the heartbeat was enough. He felt a rush of excitement surge through him as his mind flashed back to all the tales Brom told him of dragons.

According to the stories, the egg should hatch but only for its designated Rider. Naturally, Eragon hoped it would be him but at the same time he was a little worried about the responsibility. Being a werewolf, he was very independent and liked to do things on his own. He liked to be the dominant one and the person in control. But as the tales went, Riders always shared a Bond with their dragon.

There was no leader. They were partners and shared all their thoughts, emotions, hopes, dreams, fears – _everything._ While that might sound appealing to some, to Eragon it was terrible and exciting all at once. He was horribly afraid of having someone invade his last resort, the privacy of his mind, of discovering his secret. But at the same time it would be a huge relief to let it all go and confide in someone else.

He was also worried about his werewolf mind magic that Tenga told him about. The old magician had revealed that werewolves had a special inborn mechanism of sorts that prevented most other magicians from invading their minds unless said magician was incredibly powerful or had learned their True Name.

Fortunately for Eragon no one knew his, _hells,_ he didn't even know his! So the good thing about that was that it would not be a liability and he would be safe. The only problem was that some people had to read your mind in order to trust you and they would become incredibly suspicious if they could not. For if they did, they would discover his secret and he would become an outlaw, a criminal, hunted down like an animal.

But now he had a chance to change their minds about him first. If he was bonded to a dragon then there was a good chance they would accept him better if and when they discovered his secret. That wasn't the only reason he wanted the azure egg to hatch for him, of course. That would be too cruel and selfish. No. Actually, he did love dragons and slipped from the world whenever Brom would tell him about them. It was like he was in another time, another place, and his issues didn't matter anymore.

He wondered now how Brom would react. The old man's eyes always lit up whenever he spoke of dragons and he got all nostalgic kind of like. Eragon greatly anticipated his reaction and couldn't resist a smirk at the thought of what he would be like. He felt guilty at the same time, for running off but now perhaps he could atone for letting his self-pity get the better of him. If nothing more, it would give the old man some life again as he always seemed to look more alive and active than usual when he talked of dragons.

Speaking of which, Eragon's mind wandered as he trudged down the Spine to the cave. From what he knew of dragons, they ate meat and lots of it. That was fine by him since he was a meat-eater himself and a hearty one at that. Wolves ate a lot of food whenever they could and the same went for werewolves. If he was in a pack it would be different since he would have to let the leader of the pack, usually the father (mistakenly thought of as an Alpha) of the group, have the first pick of the kill. Then the rest of the pack would eat.

Sadly, there was no pack. Just him. He did have a mortal pack but it was different. If he was Bonded with a dragon then that might close up the gnawing hole in his chest he felt at night. The youth heaved a sigh and shuffled his feet. Why did he sound so selfish right now? He was thinking of himself, of his own wishes and dreams, when he should be thinking about the dragon egg resting in his arms. Who was this dragon? Were its parents still alive? Was it a male or female? How did it get to him? Had someone, or something, sent it?

With his mind awhirl, Eragon failed to realize he was at camp until he actually walked a few feet past it. Lucky enough, he was stopped by Brom who was sitting by a crackling fire rotating a spit of cooking meat. Needless to say, the sudden assault of the smell intoxicated Eragon and made his mouth water, causing him to turn almost automatically to the old man by the fireplace.

"Ah, there you are," Brom said conversationally as if they had never had an argument prior. "I managed to salvage a few plump rabbits while you were gone. It's cooking just the way you like it..."

His voice trailed off and his eyes widened in shock as he saw what was resting in the young werewolf's arms.

Eragon had frozen, numb from hunger, pain and exhaustion that crashed down around him as the smell of cooking meat brought him back to his senses. Astonished at what he held, Brom looked up at Eragon in awe and wonder, his jaw hung open slightly.

"Is that what I think it is?" Brom said slowly as if he was dreaming.

Eragon could only nod wordlessly, feeling weariness seep into him at an alarming rate.

"Is it alive?" Brom questioned in rapid fire like an eager child receiving a birthday gift. "Is it male or female? Where did you find it? Did someone give it to you? Are there more of them? Are its parents alive? Are..."

"I can only answer one question at a time, you know," Eragon interjected with a tired smile.

"Ah, yes, right," Brom said, shuffling awkwardly.

Eragon chuckled dryly since most of the time their current positions would be reversed but such was his fate. Things never worked out as they should.

"Can we talk about this inside the cave?" Eragon asked wearily, stifling a tired yawn. "I am afraid the rain has turned my strength to mush."

"Yes, of course," Brom said hastily. "Right this way."

Eragon smirked as he headed into the cave with Brom trailing after him like a lost puppy. He braced himself knowing that as soon as he sat down, the old man would bombard him with a torrent of questions about the dragon egg. The only problem was that Eragon was just as clueless, if not more so, than Eragon was.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon collapsed onto his cot and leaned against the wall. Fortunately it was close to a warm, much-needed fire making his skin heat up pleasantly. He watched his breath puff in the air and waited patiently for Brom to make himself comfortable. He did not have to wait long, however, for said story-teller was instantly settled down and rubbing his hands eagerly by the fire.

Broom sucked in a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest sitting cross-legged by the hearth staring at Eragon eagerly. Eragon smiled faintly and waited for the onslaught of questions that was sure to come.

"Talk to me, Eragon!" Brom barked. "I need answers now! What in the bloody Empire happened up there and how in the name of the Mad King did you get that egg?"

Eragon smirked.

Brom was finally getting back in character. Just when he was starting to get worried! The old man's glare cut off his amusement though and Eragon heaved a sigh.

"Where should I begin?" He asked.

"I would say at the beginning but I already have an inkling as to what happened before you found the egg," Brom drawled. "So why don't you just skip to the important part?"

"I'm not important to you?" Eragon pouted feigning a hurt look. "You wound me!"

"Stop playing around, boy!" Brom barked. "Talk!"

"Fine, fine," Eragon grumbled, rolling his eyes at Brom's anxiety. "To make a long story short I was running up the mountain and sulking. I reached the summit in a couple hours and proceeded to decimate the general proximity with magic. When I was spent I realized what I was done, and that you were right."

Eragon mumbled the last part ignoring Brom's wide eyes about his claim of using magic. He continued hastily spotting the question on the tip of the old man's tongue.

"I asked for help rhetorically not expecting an answer," The boy continued. "But I got one anyways in the form of a bright light that appeared suddenly flinging me backwards. When the light faded, it revealed this egg that had tendrils of smoke rolling off it and the grass beneath it was burned for a few feet all around. You wouldn't happen to know what kind of magic that is by the way. Would you?"

When he paused to catch his breath, he looked up from the fire and noticed that Brom looked grim, puzzled and worried all at once.

"Brom?" Eragon asked curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"Perhaps," Brom muttered. "While I do not know for certain I do know that the magic you mentioned is extremely powerful and there are hardly any magicians with magical cores strong enough to cast that spell. As you know all the Dragon Riders save for the Mad King were wiped out crossing out them as possible suspects. I can only think of a few others who would be able to but why would they when they were not supposed to send the egg in this manner?"

"What do you mean, Brom?" Eragon asked in confusion. "And who are they? What are you talking about now?"

"I don't suppose you know of teleportation magic do you?" Brom enquired.

Eragon shook his head and watched curiously as the old man got up and meandered through the cave until he reached a bowl of water that was sitting on a small corner table. He wrinkled his brow in confusion as Brom cradled the bowl in his hands and carried it to the fire. He set it between them and sat before it again.

Taking a deep breath Brom held out his right hand before the water and a look of intense concentration filled his eyes.

"_**Draumr Kopa,"**_ Brom chanted, twisting his hand as if tossing something.

_Dream Stare,_ Eragon translated automatically in his head.

His mind flashed back to his tuitions with Tenga and realization dawned on him. Brom was scrying someone. But he held his peace out of respect and recognizing the worry on Brom's face which suggested the situation was far more dire than Eragon could comprehend.

Eragon scrutinized the water with apprehension as the surface rippled as if a pebble had been dropped in it. But instead of a vision appearing, he could only see darkness so when a musical feminine voice broke through the uneasy stillness, he flinched being startled.

"Brom," Said the voice from the water. "It is agreeable to meet you at this dire time."

Eragon glanced over curiously at his warfare teacher and was surprised to see Brom shaking with fury. Whatever vision he was seeing must have stirred up the emotions within him.

"Are you alone?" The female questioned.

Brom sighed. "No but I trust my companion."

Eragon stifled a grin at the statement, for some reason it made him feel proud.

"Then may I enquire as to the safety of the egg?" The voice asked worriedly. "Did it reach you? Is it well?"

"No and yes," Brom sighed. "It reached my charge but is safe now."

"Then this complicates things," The female murmured making Eragon bristle.

"Perhaps," Brom agreed with the ghost of a smile. "But perhaps not. Tell me, where are you and who captured you? How did you get intercepted? The route was supposed to be secret."

"As for our discovery I know not who betrayed us," The female answered. "But my companions are slain and I have been captured. They are taking me to the Gilead for questioning. I know nothing more."

"Rest easy, my lady," Brom said kindly. "We shall free you."

"We?" The woman asked again making Eragon take in a deep breath and clamp his jaw shut, biting back a sharp retort.

"Yes," Brom said. "I have been training my charge and he has just been in his first battle. He is strong enough for this, I believe."

"If that is what you think," The elf sighed.

Suddenly, the trio heard the tromping of boots and loud jeering of soldiers. Eragon's blood boiled and Brom looked grim.

"Stay strong, my Lady," The old man said solemnly. "We shall come for you."

"Thank you," The female said softly.

Brom hesitated a moment before waving his hand sharply and muttering some words under his breath, cancelling the spell.

"Who were you scrying?" Eragon asked curiously.

Staring fiercely into the fire, Brom spared him a glance before turning back his gaze and answering his question.

"Arya," He replied.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**A/N 1: **Like it? Love it? Hate it? Comment and critique this so that I can make it even better yet!

**A/N 2:** A quick word here, folks. If you look up Scrying on the Inheritance Wiki it says that you can't scry something you haven't seen before and Eragon hasn't seen Arya yet but Brom has since the history of the Varden and Arya acting as an elvish ambassador has happened more or less accurately. Just thought to mention that in case some of you forgot and got confused.


	8. Hatchling

**Disclaimer:** Remember the last disclaimer? Same rules apply!

**Author's Note:** Once again, you guys were fantastic and had me grinning like an idiot throughout the day. Your feedback was epic and really keeps me, and thus this story, going. Moving on, as one reviewer put it a few chapters ago – It's _Rider Time!_ The statement in itself should be pretty much self explanatory but if you still don't get it (no offence intended) then the chapter title should explain what I mean. So without any further ado, allow me to present you with the eighth instalment of "Inner Wolf."

Enjoy!

P.S. What one reviewer said about Scrying was probably right but I must have gotten confused when I looked it up on Wikipedia since I don't have the books with me at this moment in time. So to explain that, Eragon wasn't looking in the scrying pool just like you don't usually stare at someone when they make a phone-call or Skype over the internet. But enough rambling. Let the story begin!

**CHAPTER 8:** Hatchling

Eragon tossed and turned restlessly during the night. His mind was fraught with worry. He was deeply concerned about his cousin and the villagers. He was confused and apprehensive about their upcoming rescue mission. He wondered how they could safely guard the dragon egg, the most sacred thing in the world right now, while infiltrating an Empire garrison that also housed a Shade (or so Brom told him) which was probably inclusive of slaughtering dozens of soldiers.

Nodding in and out of sleep, his mind wandered. He thought about Roran and wondered how he was faring somewhere out in the harsh, unforgiving Spine. After the scrying and their conversation about the egg, Eragon had apologized for his rash behaviour and Brom forgave him. Brom then explained that he convinced Roran the only safest thing for him and the people of Carvahall was a leave-taking, an exodus.

Being a storyteller, Brom had a way with words and was easily able to convince the farmer's son and the village elders that this was for the best. They reluctantly agreed and had begun the tedious process of dismantling as much of the village they could and taking what food and supplies they could carry. It would be a long and painful journey through the Spine and, if any of the guards reported back to their masters, Roran would be an outlaw. But Brom had a few friends in high places and one of them was a trader/merchant named Jeod. So after some convincing, Brom told Roran to ask Jeod for help. Roran agreed and they began their relocation to the rebel group: The Varden.

This wasn't news to Eragon who had heard of the Varden in Brom's tales of heroes and legends. However, he thought it was just a myth, something that had once been a glorious resistance movement only to be crushed brutally by Galbatorix. It turned out that he was wrong and that the Varden was very much alive and active, albeit in secret since they weren't strong enough to defeat the Empire. Right now they mainly comprised of dwarves and humans since the elves had withdrawn their allegiance due to a falling out or something.

Brom was vague about the details but they hadn't given the Varden any support in the past twenty years, nearly crippling the resistance movement. And as such, the Varden had to lie low resorting to small skirmishes and night-time raids on Empire supply trains and military outposts. Needless to say, they weren't such a happy group living under ground in a dwarven mountain. Personally, Eragon found the notion of hiding in a hole stifling and cowardly. Being a werewolf, it was an affront to his nature to hide all the time, lurking in the shadows.

While he understood their need for secrecy and waiting until they got stronger, this was just a bit too weak for him. The Varden could be out doing things instead of hiding. They could embark on a propaganda campaign to make the Empire, and Galbatorix, look bad if he didn't look bad enough already. That would be much better for their recruitment system which seemed to have dried up ever since they pulled back to the dwarven mountain of Farthen Dur. It was sad, Eragon speculated. But perhaps with a werewolf on their side, things would change.

Change was definitely in the air, what with the village's relocation; their destination being the Varden and all. It was a mammoth venture, something not taken lightly and probably unprecedented in the history of the tiny valley villages of and around Carvahall. It was a pity the riot had to happen since the traders were visiting the nearby town and they could probably make a lot of money trading crops and things they couldn't carry. Then again, there wasn't much left since some of the houses had been broken down for firewood and all the crops they couldn't carry were burned so that the Empire couldn't make use of them.

The once peaceful backwater valley, a hidden paradise of blissful ignorance and tranquillity, was now a barren wasteland. It was a sad, sad fate that had befallen them but fate served no one's whim. Speaking of fate, Eragon's was just about to take an entirely different turn. But the boy did not anticipate this entirely although, looking back on it, it would have been painfully obvious that that might happen. Whatever the case, it was about three or four in the morning.

Eragon was trying his best to sleep but the mission to rescue the elf maiden was weighing heavily on his mind. The relocation of the village and the possibility of being labelled as outlaws for resisting arrest and execution was also bothering Eragon who couldn't sleep to save his life. He nodded in and out of slumber but flashes of the valley burning, smoke climbing to the heavens, plagued him. He could hear the screams of dying soldiers, the scent of fresh blood assaulted his nostrils over and over again. It was agonizing.

And if that wasn't annoying enough, a dull thud followed by a sharp crack awoke Eragon. Dazed, groggy, and disoriented, the young shapeshifter sat up on his cot. His eyes were blurry with sleep and his tousled brown hair was messy. His whole body was drenched with sweat and yet he shivered from an icy cold chill despite the warmth of the fire and the soft fur blanket wrapped snug around him. A deep resigned sigh escaped his lips and he sat up in his bed.

Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head as if to dislodge the weariness and slothfulness that had taken up residence there of late. He still felt exhausted and wanted to go back to sleep, but he couldn't. He knew that sound, it triggered a memory within the far reaches of his mind as if he had been secretly waiting for this to happen. It was odd how he wasn't frozen in shock or how his heart wasn't pounding wildly in his chest. For some reason, it was as if he had been expecting this and anticipating this. He knew what was happening and only felt a soothing calm wash over him.

He gazed at the cause of the sound and a wry smile spread across his face. He grinned and almost laughed but didn't. Instead, he watched, marvelling slightly, as the azure stone he found in the Spine – no, the dragon egg – was tossing and turning about as if being moved by invisible hands. He spotted a distinct crack on the surface and his heart soared.

He knew the crack came naturally, from within, for he had speculated on trying to lend the dragon baby within the egg a hand by cracking the egg open somehow. Unfortunately, Brom shot that idea down and made him swear in the Ancient Language that he would not do so. It was the dragon's first fight, and a battle it had to do on its own. Eragon said it since he couldn't tell if it was male or female. A heartbeat only went so far and not even with his magical training or enhanced werewolf senses could he discern that.

No matter.

The gender would be revealed soon, for the cracks were spreading. It was like watching an earthquake, or a tremor, albeit a miniature one. Luckily this earthquake would not destroy a good part of the world. Then again, the being within the egg most likely would whether for good or for evil. How ironic was that?

Stifling a smirk, Eragon sighed and clenched his hands. He closed them tight and opened them again, the slow exercise relaxing his weary form and pumping some small life into his veins. Quite unexpectedly, a thrill of excitement shot through him as he watched a minuscule beak break through the egg, a shard of dragon egg clattering to the ground.

Desperately, determinedly, the beak went to work and soon tiny claws lent a helping hand as well. In a manner of moments, the dragon was free of its shell and Eragon grimaced as he saw that it was still drenched in mucus. The dragon didn't seem to mind. Instead, it thrived on the stuff and actually started licking it off with its serpentine forked tongue much like a cat would give itself a bath.

Eragon marvelled at the most glorious creature that sat before him. It was acting perfectly casual and entirely unafraid that a large, hulking form towered over it. In fact, the dragonling held itself with a grace much like a king or queen. It shuffled its wings primly similar to a dog shaking water off its fur, or a wolf, but in a more dignified, noble fashion.

Here was true strength for no matter how small or helpless the young dragon appeared; it was not afraid. Instead, it seemed confident and secure as if it owned the place. Indeed, it looked perfectly in control as it pranced around superiorly with its head held high and without a care in the world.

Eragon watched the dragon's first steps in fascination as it meandered around the cave floor, carefully avoiding the broken egg shell. He frowned thoughtfully as he realized the dragon had a purpose to its wandering. But soon, his lips curved upwards in a knowing smile a proud one, almost akin to a father watching his son, or daughter, take his or her first steps towards the cookie jar.

However, the dragonling was not heading to the cookie jar for there was no such thing in the cave. Instead, it made its way to the fireplace where it paused, crouching low and peering fiercely at it as if facing off a powerful evil enemy. Eragon restrained his mirth at how childish and amusing it looked, in a good way. The dragon would probably nip him if he laughed. But the creature seemed to pay no heed to the onlooker.

Staring directly into the flames, the dragon lifted its front paws, arched its back, and stretched out its wings as if posing like a defiant noble statue. It did more than just stand still though, for seconds later it opened its maw releasing a small roar and a small tongue of flames as if someone had just lit an oil-soaked torch. Funnily enough though, the roar ended in a squeak and a hiccup. The dragon coughed and sputtered, releasing a puff of smoke from its nostrils.

Eragon smiled and hummed softly. The dragon's ears perked up intelligently as it registered the noise. It fluttered its wings and gave another defiant squeak before shaking its body in a superior, regal fashion and padded towards Eragon. It sniffed the air cautiously, suspiciously and Eragon held out a hand, slowly and soothingly trying not to frighten the young dragon.

The hatchling paused momentarily as Eragon's hand hovered a centimetre in the air above the dragon's forehead. The small creature hesitated, clearly fighting an inward battle as if debating on whether or not Eragon was trustworthy. But eventually, it caved and bowed its head leaning into Eragon's palm. Hot tears sprung to Eragon's eyes as the baby dragon rubbed its scaly head affectionately against his cupped hand similar to how a kitten would to its owner.

Sniffling slightly, Eragon scooted over slowly and bent down offering the dragon its arm. The dragon hesitated as if already missing the warmth his hand offered before quickly leaping up onto its arms, spreading its wings out slightly as it did so. A weaker Eragon would have definitely staggered under the weight of the hatchling if only momentarily. But thanks to his inner wolf, he was able to handle the baby dragon and grinned as it paused a moment, craning its neck around as if to survey its surroundings.

After a few moments of cautious observation, the miniature dragon hopped onto Eragon's lap and curled up, snuggling in the warmth of the fur blanket wrapped around him. Eragon breathed a contented sigh as he scratched the dragon gently behind the ears and the dragon hummed quietly. He shifted slightly and a thought struck him.

The dragon couldn't talk yet since it was just a baby but it had feelings and emotions as he had seen. They might be able to come to an understanding if he tried to communicate through the dragon's mind using magic. Taking a deep breath, Eragon reached out with his core and stretched it across the vague gray expanse between their minds.

Floating along endlessly, he finally reached his target and approached the dragon's walls cautiously. After revealing that he was a friend and identifying who he was, the dragon seemed to nod and granted him access. The dragon let the barriers to its mind, slowly, but just as Eragon was about to peek through he felt an icy chill race down his spine.

A searing pain shot through him, despite his enhanced stamina. His mind reeled and he felt on fire with pain. The dragon wailed in anger and agony. The last thing that registered in his mind was a commotion in the cave and, once again, the shocked and worried face of Brom hovering above him.

But then Eragon's eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he collapsed, sprawling out limply on the floor, the dragon hatchling crumpling in a heap on his chest at the same time. And then, the world went blank and blackness overwhelmed him.

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**Default A/N:**Like it? Love it? Hate it? Critique and comment so I know what to change and can make this even better yet!

**A/N 2:** I just realized, after writing the majority of this chapter, that as soon as Eragon touches Saphira as a baby he gets bonded to her. Sorry for that mistake in this fic, but I reckoned that Eragon's inner wolf would fight against the bond and try to make him feel like it wasn't an exciting, wondrous thing. Of course, Brom will explain this thoroughly in the next chapter and then it's _really_ Rider Time and soon the rescue mission. So bye for now and stay tuned for more!


	9. Dilemma

**Disclaimer:** I do not possess the Eragon books or characters.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for sticking with me guys! I'm really glad and pleased that you like it so much and which author doesn't feel that way after reaching over 100 reviews? Of course, your actual feedback, advice, and response means more to me than just a sum but it does make me feel rather pleased if you get my meaning.

Enough rambling though as I don't want to bore you to tears. This chapter was gonna be longer but the ending felt just right and it is mainly concentrating on explaining the resistance to the dragon bond, what with Eragon's Lycanthropy. Sorry for the length but there will be some action soon, I promise! So just bear with me now and I hope this filler-chapter will suffice until the big episode I have planned finally hits and finally merges with the canon books.

**Chapter 9:** Dilemma

_**Eragon!**__ A voice echoed in his mind. __**Where are you Eragon? Why have you forgotten about us, about the Void? You have not visited us in an eon. **_

_**I'm sorry,**__ Eragon whimpered. _

_**Open your eyes, Eragon,**__ The voice commanded with the hint of a growl. __**Look and see. Understand.**_

_Slowly and cautiously, Eragon opened his eyes. _

_His vision blurred and stretched; his head throbbed mightily and his whole body flared with pain. He was half-standing, half-falling. _

_Staggering, stumbling, he flailed about aimlessly and listlessly like a man in a trance with no goal or vision. All around him was an eerie ghostly white, almost akin to a graveyard. It was eerily quiet and all was still. He could not even hear his own footsteps as he trudged along._

_Even so, he recognized the place. _

_It was the Void; Eragon grimaced, realizing he had not visited it in quite some time what with the upheaval at the valley._

_As his head cleared he saw trees, bushes, and bubbling streams. He saw no werewolves though, none of his kin. Instead, he saw a dense gloomy mist shroud the trees, ghosting along slowly but surely._

_**You have deserted us, Eragon!**__ The voice hissed. __**You have left us for another, a lesser kind. Do you not feel it? Do you not feel your powers abating, fading away?**_

_Eragon nearly stumbled but caught himself in the nick of time. Feeling nervous and frightened for once in his life, he sucked in a deep breath and reached out with his sixth sense, for his werewolf side._

_He was met with a thick, inky blackness._

_Nothing._

_No one answered his feeble knocking on the door. It remained solid and impassive before him, barring him from entry. It was a wonder it still existed at all._

_He sank to his knees as he realized the voice spoke the truth. He could feel his strength diminishing rapidly, his senses weakening to that of a child. They should have been greater, even for a human since he was older now._

_But they were weak, pathetic, useless. If he remained this way, he would be no more than a walking vegetable. He would help no one, he would only be a danger, a liability. _

_**Why?**__ He cried out plaintively, his mind racing. __**What have I done wrong? Where is my mistake?**_

_**Mistake?**__ The voice asked coldly. __**MISTAKE? You have bonded with another and you will have to push us aside. You cannot serve two masters. You already told Brom you serve no one and we cannot abide by that. We demand allegiance, the Pack demands it.**_

_**What pack? **__Eragon asked in confusion. __**How do you know what I have told Brom? And who is this other...person that I have bonded with? Please, tell me!**_

_As if in answer, the air shimmered and Eragon gasped in shock and surprise to see a semi-translucent image of the azure baby dragon that hatched for him. _

_But he hadn't Bonded with it, in all the old tales Brom told him a Rider was only Bonded with his Dragon upon the first touch. And that all depended if the Dragon accepted him. Eragon had held the dragon in his arms, that meant they weren't Bonded. But he had been granted access into its mind. Did that mean..._

_But the youth had no time to contemplate however, for suddenly the young blue dragon arched its neck and roared in pure rage and fury. A tongue of flame was unleashed from its maw and in a flurry of action and magic the creature...grew._

_There was a brilliant flash of light and a clap of silent thunder that slammed Eragon to the side. He went backwards with a gasp for breath as he lay on the ground, winded. His vision became blurry whether from the fall or otherwise._

_Where there was once one dragon, he saw another and another. Soon, there were many dragons, large dragons. Not all were the same shade of blue. Some were lighter, some were darker, almost the colour of midnight. _

_They were all glaring daggers at Eragon as if he was the enemy. Their wings were arched and they were rearing on their hind-legs. Dragon fire lashed out of their maws dancing into the air with a vengeance. _

_Trees burst into flame and exploded in a torrent of splinters and ashes. Snow transformed to dust and the air was filled with smoke and fire. Dark clouds billowed in the sky. _

_Lightning rent the heavens apart and thunder shook the earth._

_**You see, Eragon,**__ The voice crooned. __**This is what you will cause. This is an evil you will bring back into the world. An evil that was eradicated for a reason.**_

_**But I thought werewolves were friends of the dragons, **__Eragon said when his head cleared and his mind returned to him. __**They were both destroyed by the Empire. Do you not have a common enemy?**_

_**Perhaps,**__ The voice answered grimly. __**But we also share a common host. A wolf and a dragon cannot be Bound to the same master. A soul cannot be split so many ways. One day, you will have to choose, young hero. One day.**_

_Eragon was too weak without his powers, without the gift of Lycanthropy, and could only watch helplessly as the army of phantom dragons destroyed the Void. _

_He knew this was just a dream and that the Void would grow again since the dragons were just an implant in his head, so to speak. But that did not stop his heart from being torn in two as he struggled to decide whether or not to side with the werewolves or the dragon he was seemingly Bonded with._

_They were both the last of their kind._

_Werewolves._

_Dragons._

_Werewolves._

_Dragons._

_**Eragon!**__ Another voice called._

_Werewolves._

_Dragons._

_Werewolves._

_Dragons._

"Eragon!"

The boy in question gasped in shock, panting for breath and his arms grasping in the air.

Brom quickly caught his hand and held it as he placed a palm on his forehead to see if he had a fever. Brom sighed, seemingly in relief and Eragon sank back on his bed taking in deep gulps of air.

"What happened?" He asked. "One moment you were cuddling with the hatchling and the next you were passed out? I awoke to the dragon shrieking in pain and you two fainting. Talk to me, Eragon!"

Eragon sighed wearily and scooted towards the wall of the cave, since his cot was tucked into the back corner of it, and leaned against the wall. It was hard and cold, just like his heart.

"Apparently I was Bonded to a dragon," Eragon said impassively. "But not the normal way. Now, my kin want me to abandon it. They want me to choose."

He laughed bitterly and felt black emotions emanating from the dragon, through their Bond.

Brom groaned in frustration and clenched his fist. He looked like he wanted to punch someone but restrained himself, glaring into the crackling fire instead.

His dragon seemed to be doing the same thing, although it was crouching low as if it was about to pounce. It was hissing angrily at the fire, or at whatever he saw in the flames. Which was rather funny considering a dragon could unleash a torrent of flames.

"What would you do, Brom?" Eragon asked at last. "Which side would you pick?"

Brom didn't look up in the fire, but relaxed somewhat.

"I do not believe it is my place to say," He said slowly. "The answers for deep questions like this one always lie deep within one's heart."

"But if you are forced to choose?" Eragon pressed.

"If I must," Brom muttered. "Then I would choose both sides. Sometimes, doing nothing is the best thing but it can also be the worst thing. In your case I might just advise it though. Few are lucky enough to be Bonded to both a dragon and a werewolf as you are."

"Even if the price for those Bonds are my soul?" Eragon drawled.

Brom looked up sharply but when he saw no jest in Eragon's eyes, he seemed to sigh and suddenly, he looked much older and far more weary than Eragon had ever seen him in times past. He looked as if he had seen things a village storyteller would never have, things that no man should have endured.

"The choice is yours, lad," Brom said softly, almost inaudibly. "And there are none who walk this world or the world beyond that can make that decision for you. But..."

Brom held up his hands to silence Eragon's objections.

"...there is one decision I _can_ make for you," Brom chuckled dryly.

"And what might that be?" Eragon sulked.

"I am afraid that due to recent events," The old man replied, with a steely gaze. "That you cannot come with me to rescue Arya."

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**A/N:** As I said, it was more of a filler chapter and went kind of different to how I intended it. Still, I like it and the next chapter will probably have a time-skip to when Saphira is fully-grown (more or less). Because Eragon's still weak from the fight and has been Bonded to a baby dragon (as will be revealed) and that will just get them into more trouble while on a rescue mission. Also, Eragon has his werewolf powers back since that was just a bad dream and a warning. Here's a question though, what would you choose if you were in Eragon's shoes? Would you choose to be Bonded to a Dragon or remain a Werewolf?

Any thoughts, people? And, of course, how was the chapter?


	10. Lessons

**Disclaimer:** *plays the broken record* The Eragon franchise does not belong to me!

**Author's Note:** Another slight filler chapter but I thought it was pretty okay and rather necessary considering the circumstances. It's important to read though so please do so and enjoy it. As always, you guys are bloody brilliant and I know I can count on you to make my day. Hopefully some of your questions will be answered in this chapter but about Eragon's decision, he basically chose to do nothing and keep both of his Bonds. Also, I call Eragon and Saphira bond-mates but they are not in a romantic relationship. They are merely called that since Eragon's Lycanthropy makes him think in different terms. Now, with that out of the way allow me to present you with the next update.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 10:** Lessons

Brom left sometime in the night after Eragon and his new dragon bond-mate had fallen asleep, leaving him little else but to follow his orders. He had protested at first when the old man told him he had to stay behind but now he had finally relented and saw reason. As much as he hated to admit it, Brom was right.

Travelling with a baby dragon who would want to explore its surroundings, fly about, hunt, and burst things into flame at every chance was not a good idea when they would have to focus all their concentration on the rescue mission. It would be far too risky considering the dragon might wander off while they were away and get hurt or even killed due to its current inability to protect itself.

Since Eragon was now the dragon's Bond-mate, he had to watch over him or her and train it in the art of flight and warfare. Somehow, Brom had produced several books on dragons, their Riders, and the training involved that he managed to salvage from his house before the riot went out of control. He left them beside Eragon's cot and the boy noticed them as he groggily opened his eyes.

He had shot up in bed upon realizing that he meant to stay awake to sneak out with Brom on the rescue mission whether the old man liked it or not. But his werewolf powers were waning and slipping. He had a dragonling to take care of and train. He now realized that was more important for the time being. It was certainly the most important thing in his life right now.

However, that important thing was currently awake and growling. It was looking outside and pawing at the floor as if it wanted to get out. Curious and worried, Eragon reached out with his mind to investigate and felt an overpowering sense of hunger coming from the little creature. The dragon gave a little squeak of surprise and then gratitude as Eragon sent a mental image of him going on a hunt and giving the baby dragon some food.

The dragon pulled back and sat back on its hind legs, folding its miniature wings elegantly at its sides. Eragon smiled fondly and patted the young dragon softly on the head. The dragon purred happily and Eragon sighed, knowing he'd have to part ways with the creature for only a short time but for both of their own good.

"I shall return," He promised, and the dragon gazed up at him with wide innocent blue eyes.

To Eragon, it was as if he was peering into a vast and deep blue lake that had no bottom and stretched on for miles. Giving himself a mental shake, he shrugged off his blanket and stepped outside.

He didn't bother to get dressed.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let his whole body relax. He hoped desperately that his powers were not fully taken from him since he needed them now more than ever to protect the baby dragon who was back in the cave waiting patiently for him.

Reaching out with his mind, Eragon sought into the depths of his consciousness. As if crossing a darkened hall and finally reaching a door, Eragon ceased groping around in the inky blackness and turned on the doorknob. The handle turned and the door opened. Glorious white light poured out of it and consumed Eragon's entire being.

The white light exploded all around him brilliantly and fantastically. It was so bright that it almost blinded him. But finally, the light abated and Eragon opened his eyes cautiously only to see the faint golden glow of dawn. Fearing the worst but hoping for the best, he glanced down at his hands and body.

A deep shuddering sigh passed through his body and he never felt more relieved than he did at that exact moment, for his body not human: He had transformed into his werewolf-form! Elated that he was still Turned and hadn't been rejected because of the Bond, Eragon howled in triumph and heard a faint roar of approval and pride in return.

He gave a fond but feral smile, realizing it was from his Bond-mate, and breathed deeply of the crisp morning air that washed over him. Enjoying being in his more natural form, he sprang into action and raced through the woods letting his paws take him wherever they would.

All too soon, Eragon's nostrils caught wind of the scent of blood and his ears perked up as they took note of a rapid heart-beat. Eragon's tongue hung out of his jaws as he panted hungrily, his own desire to feed only enhanced by his Bond-mate's hunger. Speeding up the chase, he closed his eyes and let his instincts take over.

Time flew by as he sped on to his target, what appeared to be an old limping stag with one antler broken off. He was near his end and had lived a full life. Eragon was not sad to take it from him since he knew the noble creature was currently ashamed of living so low. He could smell the creature's emotions right off him; Eragon would grant the buck a quick and painless death.

The killing blow came sooner than Eragon expected as he lunged through the air and sank his fangs into the stag's throat instead of his usual tactic in paralyzing it at its rear. Once dead, Eragon struggled not to give into his own hunger and gripped the deer by the skin over its neck like one might hold a rabbit and ambled through the trees and bushes on his hind legs.

He made haste back to the cave and sent his dragon an image of the deceased deer. The dragon growled hungrily and Eragon knew better than to take the first piece himself. He would let the dragon eat and sate his own hunger on some bread and cheese Brom left for him, after transforming back into his human self. He would then satisfy his wolf-form after his dragon was content.

Eragon didn't skin the deer or clean the meat off the bones since he knew the dragon had to learn how to do that for itself. Some might call that cruel and too strict but it would only hinder the dragon's growth and the ability to survive. If Eragon died and the dragon lived, there would be no one to do that for it so these survival skills were imperative for the dragon to learn from an early age.

With that thought in mind, Eragon turned his back on the dragon as it pounced on the fallen deer and began nipping curiously at it, to give the dragon some privacy. Meanwhile, he slipped back into his human form and conjured some water from the ground outside the cave. It was from an underwater stream a few miles below the ground that was watering the roots of the surrounding trees.

Using this water, Eragon filled up a few stone bowls and a cauldron. He set about preparing some tea and reserved some for his dragon who would surely be thirsty. He used the remainder of the water to clean himself up from the blood. While he could have used magic, it was fun to do things manually sometimes otherwise there would be no point in enjoying life if you could do everything perfectly and easily.

When he was finished cleaning up and eating his own breakfast, Eragon dressed in his clothes and returned his attention to the dragon who was currently licking its body like a cat, cleaning itself of the blood since it was finished eating. Eragon grinned at the sight and cast a quick spell over the meat so it would stay fresh for several hours. He then placed it in a pot and set it aside.

Once the dragon was finished with its business, Eragon held out his arm and bowed low before the dragon. The creature looked up at him curiously with wide intelligent eyes that made Eragon feel fond again, much to his annoyance. He was starting to act like a blubbering old grandmother not strong and in control like the werewolf, and now Dragon Rider, he was!

Suddenly, a stranger gravelly noise erupted from the dragon and Eragon blinked in confusion. At first, he thought the dragon was choking or sensed a threat whether in him or someone else. Perhaps he should have diced the meat after all? Maybe they were not alone? Had one of the soldiers from the village escaped and followed them here? Shoving all the worries aside, he reached out through the Bond and was startled to find not fear or anger but amusement on the dragon's end.

And then Eragon realized the dragon was laughing! Once he got over his shock, he grinned for the dragon's mirth at his expense was affective and he realized the dragon was laughing at his thought about becoming like an old grandmother. It was rather amusing in a way since he was now had to watch over this baby dragon so a faint chuckle escaped his lips and then it turned into all-out laughter as he caved and joined in on the dragon's humour.

Both Rider and Dragon were laughing and laughing until Eragon's sides hurt and great tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks. It felt good to laugh after all his sorrow, rage, and anxiety. He had almost forgotten what it was like to laugh, the sound felt so alien and foreign to him that at first he wasn't sure it was from his lips at all. But now he was certain of it and laughed until his voice was hoarse. When he couldn't laugh any longer, Eragon sank onto the ground and hugged his knees to his chest.

A smile lit up his face as the dragon hiccupped after laughing so hard and jumped around as tiny puffs of smoke escaped its nostrils due to the hiccupping. As a result of jumping, the baby dragon's wings subsequently flapped and carried it a few inches up in the air. Eragon watched in amazement as the dragon flew for the first time in its life only to land on the ground with a squeak of surprise and then stumble slightly as it tripped over a pebble on the ground.

Luckily, the dragon was unharmed and was quite all right. In fact, it wanted to try it again and again but Eragon knew that he couldn't let the dragon push itself beyond exhaustion point lest the dragon seriously hurt itself. There was also one important factor that he wanted to address before they got distracted with the rigors of training and got set into their daily schedule. The problem was that Eragon couldn't simply keep calling the dragon: Dragon.

It needed a name and the young shape-shifter had a slight inkling that the books Brom left for him had a few options for him. Heaving a sigh, he scooped the dragon up in his arms ignoring the struggles and squeaks of protest. The dragon could have nipped him or burned him but didn't since it enjoyed the feeling of being in its Bond-mate's arms, like a child would a parent, and Eragon could tell this from his side of the Bond. It was far more appreciation than his Lycanthropy earned him!

Once inside the cave, Eragon set the dragon down by the fire and the little creature was soon mesmerized by the dancing dead embers. As if missing the warmth, the dragon tried letting out another tongue of flame to light the fire but these attempts were feebler than the others whether or not it was from the flying and jumping around. With a smile on his face, Eragon sat on his cot with his back to the wall and dragged the ancient dusty tomes onto his lap.

Eventually, he found one that was called _How to Name Your Dragon_. It looked old and worn as if many previous Dragon Riders had used it in the past and the notion sent a warm feeling in Eragon, a faint glimmer of hope that he might not be alone in the world. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head to cast off such thoughts and returned his attention to the book. Leafing through it, he scanned through the pages.

One part of his magical training involved the reading of spells and such. This meant he had to learn how to read so as to translate spells from other languages into the Ancient Language and the other way around since some spells were written in tomes, scrolls, and other records. It was tedious work though, reading the book about naming dragons, since a dragon's name was extremely important and often announced in a formal naming ceremony.

The dragon was most often named according to a particular trait that was especially obvious about it. It could be a colour, habit, or method of fighting that the creature was famous, or infamous, for: Something that defined the dragon. Sometimes, the dragon chose its name but such was not usually the case since most dragons were not smart enough to pick their own names when the ceremony was held which occurred traditionally three days after the Bond was formed.

This usually gave the Dragon Rider enough time to get acquainted with his or her Bond-mate and decide what trait would make up its name. This left Eragon in a quandary since he didn't quite know whether the dragon was a male or female or what was a deciding trait about it. A few names sprung to mind and he sifted through them experimentally. As if reading his thoughts again, the dragon stopped playing about and twisted its body about to gaze thoughtfully at Eragon.

Several names pushed to the forefront of his mind amongst them being: Flame-tongue, the dragon's first act was to unleash a tongue of flame; Silver-Veins, due to the silvery veins on its egg; Hope, no explanation there; Storm-breaker, since the dragon broke the storm of Eragon's grief and sadness on the mountaintop when it came to him; and one more – Saphira, due to the colour of the dragon's scales which were like the colour of a sapphire stone.

Throughout this whole time, the dragon had been shaking its head as if disagreeing about all the names. But when Eragon reached Saphira it paused, hesitating. Eragon hadn't thought the dragon was a female but thrown the name in since the previous ones were male and it was only fair since it might as well have been a female. Luck seemed to favour him for the dragon froze as it seemingly deliberated and then began nodding almost feverishly.

Eragon's eyes widened in pleasant surprise as he realized the dragon was indeed female. Cautiously, he reached through the bond to investigate feeling. The dragon sent him a very distinct image revealing that it was indeed a woman and not a male making Eragon's mind scramble backwards hastily. His face flamed bright red and the dragon burst into that gravelly laughter again, shaking its neck back and forth its whole body trembling with humour.

Despite Eragon's casualness to nudity due to his constant transformations into his werewolf-form, he was still slightly embarrassed since he had been in his human-form for a while and that personality was more dominant currently than his werewolf-side. Needless to say, it was a rather awkward moment as Eragon recovered from the surprise and mulled over the name his dragoness chose in his head.

"Saphira," He murmured. "Saphira..."

The dragon's laughter came to a halt, ending abruptly in another hiccup, as it stared inquisitively at Eragon. It's eyes sparkled brightly as it heard its name aloud and the baby dragon hopped onto Eragon's lap, curling into a ball.

"Saphira," Eragon said softly but louder this time.

And so it was.

The dragon was named Saphira and Eragon was rather pleased with himself. The dragon seemed pleased too although, perhaps, for a different reason. But Eragon didn't have time to puzzle it out though since he was soon quite busy, more so than he expected.

Training Saphira was hard work especially when he took her out into the forest to practice stalking and hunting, since it was best to ingrain these habits at an early age. But playing with his dragoness and simply enjoying quiet moments with her was more than enough a reward and soon, Eragon forgot about Brom as the months flew by and Saphira began to grow.

Then the training took place in earnest as Eragon taught Saphira flying makeovers from the training manuscripts Brom left him and how to block her mind from evil magicians and the like. It was tough work and often left Eragon drained, but frequent trips to the Void helped him overcome that weariness and gave him the strength to continue.

He was rewarded furthermore when Saphira was old enough to speak his name and begin learning how to talk through their minds. It was much like teaching a child how to read and Eragon wondered if he was just as tough as when Brom and Tenga taught him.

Whatever the case, dragons were genius creatures and fast learners. Saphira grew with each passing day until she was soon large enough and strong enough to be ridden and Eragon's first flight on her back was one of the most glorious things he had ever experienced in his life. He felt like he was on top of the world and could control everything.

Saphira reprimanded him of course and Eragon apologized, vowing to never take her for granted. Throughout all this time, Eragon struggled whether or not to keep his Lycanthropy from Saphira a secret.

He knew hiding the matter would be detrimental to their relationship but he did not want to offend her knowing that he was also bonded to another creature who, apparently, were rivals with dragons in a long-forgotten past and it was that rivalry that drove the werewolves to hiding in the Spine where the terrain was too obstructive for the dragons to reach them.

So Eragon decided to keep it a secret and simply asked Saphira to trust him whenever she queried about the part of his mind he blocked off. Being the kind and caring soul she was, Saphira agreed without hesitation, something Eragon knew would stab him in the back later on. But he was able to ignore the pain as time wore on.

One year passed.

It was a strenuous day of training as Eragon had formed practice dummies from straw and branches and gave them a spark of life to make them move, feigning a threat. He and Saphira would then use different techniques of aerial warfare to defeat them.

It was long and hard work and Eragon was exhausted. There was only so much strength they could boost each other with through their Bond and by wielding magic. Needless to say, Eragon needed his sleep. Saphira was resting outside, enjoying slumbering beneath the stars as the Wild Dragons of old used to.

For his part, Eragon was grateful for the frail, well-worn cot and the blanket he had crafted anew from a few mountain goats' hides. Tired out of his mind, Eragon dropped off to sleep the moment his head hit the coarse pillow.

- PAGE BREAK -

_He was drifting through space._

_Stars twinkled brightly. Nebulas flourished gloriously like a sentient magical being. Planets hung in the sky as they rotated on their axis._

_All was silent._

_He had tried to reach the Void but could not find the Spirit Paths. _

_For some reason, they failed him._

_Now he was afloat in the heavens and might not find his way back to his body. He was trying not to panic and failing miserably._

_Then, a voice echoed through his mind._

_**Eragon!**__ The voice said mournfully._

_And it was not from any of his werewolf pack. It was not from Saphira either. Who could it be?_

_**Eragon! I am calling you. Why do you not answer me?**__ The voice asked sadly. _

_**Who are you?**__ Eragon asked warily._

_**I am Brom or rather I used to be him,**__ The voice replied._

_**BROM?**__ Eragon exclaimed._

_Suddenly, memories flashed rapidly through Eragon's mind making him reel with shock, fear, and despair. _

_He had completely forgotten about his mentor! He was supposed to team up with Brom when Saphira was fully grown. They were to meet a village called Teirm._

_What had happened to Brom now? Was the old man still alive? Had he succeeded or failed in his mission? Was Arya rescued? Or were they both dead? _

_**ERAGON!**__ The voice, now recognizable as belonging to Brom, roared. __**Listen and learn, boy. I do not have much time to chat. **_

_Eragon could not say a word for so great was his shame. _

_Instead, he merely nodded or did his best to for he was having some sort of vision, trapped in his dreams. _

_**I cannot say much for I am running out of time,**__ Brom continued. __**Follow my instructions carefully boy or else we shall be all doomed. **_

_Eragon listened carefully as Brom told him what to do and vowed to accomplish the task to the best of his ability._

_**Fair thee well, Boy,**__ Brom said sadly. __**May the stars watch over you.**_

_**Good bye, Brom,**__ Eragon said slowly, confused about his latter greeting._

_**And Eragon,**__ Brom called back one last time as the boy in question felt his soul being sucked back to the mortal plains of existence. _

_**Yes?**__ Eragon asked nervously._

_**Guard your dragon with your life,**__ Brom instructed soberly. __**For without her, life is not worth living.**_

_And with that foreboding warning, Eragon felt himself being pulled into a massive vortex of raw power back to the world. He heard a dragon's roar, a female's scream, and arrows flying all about. The clashing of swords echoed tremendously in his head._

_But then it felt as if he had been plunged face-first into the water and was fighting not to choke to death. After flailing about for quite some time, Eragon returned to himself and awoke with a start, jolting into a sitting position. _

He was drenched in a cold sweat and his hair was a wreck. He looked like he had been stomped on by a dragon, wacked about by a dragon's tail, and burned in a torrent of dragon fire.

His whole body throbbed with pain and he was trembling like a leaf. Eragon felt colder than he had in his life and hugged himself as he shivered mercilessly.

_Eragon!_ Saphira roared in his mind. _Where have you been? You were thrashing and screaming in your bed. I tried to wake you but you were lost to me. How do you fair? Tell me you are well!_

The plaintive cry in his dragon's voice broke Eragon's already shattered heart. He could feel nothing but pain and regret now. How could he be so pathetically stupid?

Heaving a sigh, he turned his head forcing himself to look at Saphira who had craned her neck in the mouth of the cave.

_I have made the worst mistake of my life, my dragon,_ Eragon said mournfully to Saphira. _And now I must atone for it._

_We,_ Saphira growled warningly but gently. _We shall atone for it. We will set things right, Little One. Do not fear._

The ghost of a smile lit up Eragon's face briefly but then faded just as fast as he recalled what that atonement would entail. His face turned grim as he returned his attention to Saphira.

_Aye,_ He said sorrowfully. _But we must make haste for time is not our ally in this venture and there are two lives on the line now._

_Indeed,_ Saphira acknowledged. _But eat first and freshen up a bit. You can't defeat your enemies on an empty stomach._

Eragon smiled at Saphira and nodded but his heart wasn't in it, if there was anything left in his heart at all. He wasn't hungry at all and wondered if he ever would be.

No.

He needed to plan and plan fast.

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**A/N:** Soooo... Good? Bad? Terrible? How did I do? And what is this mysterious task Eragon has to do? Will things work out as Eragon hopes? Comment, critique, and stay tuned for the next update to find out!


End file.
